The Date
by auri mynonys
Summary: When Jafar asked Maleficent on a date, he didn't expect to survive the encounter. But romance is a very strange thing, and this date may be the start of some serious evil love - if the heroes don't ruin it first. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Wardrobe Malefunction

CHAPTER 1

Wardrobe Malefunction

It was a dark, shameful day when Maleficent did not know what to wear.

Of course, it wasn't every day that she agreed to go on a date, either. In fact, it wasn't every day that she was _asked_ to go on a date.

Maleficent normally prided herself on having an outfit for every occasion – a sign of preparedness that she believed was crucial in a good villain. Of course, the occasions that necessitated her going out generally required the same outfit – something wicked looking, something that would sweep dramatically around her and that would leave a great impression. The horns and the sweeping black and purple robe that engulfed her figure were perfect for that.

But she had clearly already left her impression on her date for the evening. She needed to leave a different impression entirely – and this was one she was not prepared for.

She stood in front of the magic mirror she had borrowed from Snow White's stepmother and frowned broodingly at herself. Her black slip clung to her slight, bony figure. She had always liked that she was tall, but she'd always hated that her figure was not a little more substantial. Her robes practically swallowed her when she walked. It worked for drama, but it did nothing for her body. Right now she wished she had curves, like Ursula – though perhaps a bit slimmer. And without the tentacles.

Maleficent tapped her fingers on her hip. What was it that heroines in those awful romance movies did when they were in such desperate straits? Some of them would call upon their fairy godmothers, of course, but Maleficent was the Fairy Godmother Gone Very Seriously Wrong. She could magick herself a dress in no time, but how would she know if it looked decent? She needed a second opinion.

She glanced at the portraits of her fellow villains lining her wall. She kept them there just to remind herself who might become a threat to her. It was always important to keep an eye on one's enemies. She told them it was because she admired their efforts towards making the world a darker place. No need for them to know what they were really there for.

She scanned the portraits until her eyes at last alighted on – his. He wasn't smiling – of course he wasn't, he was too dignified for that. He sneered regally out at whoever had been painting him at the time, wearing a flat glare. She caught just the tiniest glimpse of the golden-headed cobra staff he carried with him at all times. She felt something peculiar in her chest – a cough? Or was that a fluttering of her supposedly nonexistent heart? Impossible – she had no heart. And that sort of feeling was only for heroines. She was the Mistress of All Evil, for Satan's Sake.

Maleficent whirled to look at herself in the mirror again. She was blushing. Her cheeks were turning a deeper shade of green. Oh, no – this could not hold. This was what stupid little heroines did when they found their true loves. Elegant, well-prepared villainesses did _not_ react this way to men.

Maybe she should cancel, before this got out of hand.

She glanced towards the portrait.

No. There was no way in heaven she was canceling.

But there was still the problem of her dress.

Cursing, Maleficent ran a hand over her eyes. Who did she know that might help her? She had no friends, not really. And there weren't nearly enough respectable villainesses in the world. There was Yzma, of course, but Maleficent wouldn't trust her fashion sense for anything. What was it she wore most days? A pale purple slip? Something like that. And those huge blue earrings – no. It was not to be borne.

Perhaps the Queen of Hearts would be responsive. But no, that too would be foolish. Maleficent didn't need to look like a playing card. And anyway, the Queen of Hearts was so insane that she wouldn't be capable of offering Maleficent any good advice. Being slightly mental was perfectly acceptable, but being as out of your head as the Queen of Hearts was simply unprofessional. Maleficent sniffed disdainfully. No, she couldn't bother to associate with that woman.

Jadis certainly had a nice flare for style, but it wasn't polar bear weather. In fact, it was midsummer, and boiling hot. And anyway, Maleficent doubted her date would take her anywhere cold. He liked warm temperatures.

Cruella, of course, was very fashionable – but Maleficent had never been one for fur. Dead puppies were always enjoyable, of course, but fur itself was hot and unwieldy and usually made the wearer look ridiculous. Except old school movie stars always looked so glamorous with their mink stoles… Maleficent wondered if Cruella had a mink stole. She ought to ask.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she intoned, "Send a message to Cruella's hall."

"As my mistress commands," replied the mirror, and her reflection began to swirl within its frame. She watched and waited as the image began to solidify again, revealing Cruella.

"What is it?" Cruella snapped. "I'm a bit busy with some puppies at the moment!"

Maleficent winced as the barking began, loud, high pitched yipping that gave her a pounding headache. "Why haven't you killed them yet?" she shouted over the noise.

"Haven't had the chance today," Cruella called back. "Got a bit wrapped up in a few other nefarious schemes. You know how it is."

Actually Maleficent did not know how it was. Her nefarious schemes were very neatly organized in a black leather planner that she carried in the pocket of her voluminous robes, and they did not invade each other's time slots, ever. Maleficent never started on a new scheme until the one before it was complete. "Have you a mink stole I could borrow?" she shouted. The puppies were still barking.

"But of course!" Cruella exclaimed. She smiled toothily. "Is this about your date? I heard you had one."

Maleficent drew herself up. "And where, precisely, did you hear that?"

"Oh, the rumor is everywhere now," Cruella said. "It was all we could talk about over lunch. We hoped one of you would confirm – "

"Did _he_?" Maleficent asked, then kicked herself. Well, if he hadn't confirmed it, then she just had.

"Hasn't come out of his tower since last night," Cruella said, turning away and waltzing casually through her fur-lined room. She opened her wardrobe door and peered thoughtfully inside. "I wish you'd told me sooner that you needed a stole," she continued. "Jadis came over earlier to look at some furs. She needs them in Narnia, of course – what with it always being winter. And she can't really ask for any of them for Christmas."

"Hardly," Maleficent agreed absently.

"She took quite a few of my best coats," Cruella continued, "But she paid a good price for them. And she left me a dwarf servant to help with clubbing the puppies, which is marvelous. I think I most likely got the better end of the deal, but – oh! Here we are. A lovely mink stole. Will you be coming to pick it up?"

Maleficent reached her hand into the mirror. Miraculously, it went in without breaking the glass and reached into the stunned Cruella's room. She plucked the stole from Cruella's hands and pulled it back through the mirror into her own chambers. "Yes," she said. "I have it now. Thank you very much for your help. I'll see that this is returned to you tomorrow."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me details about the date," Cruella said, pulling out a cigarette.

"Not likely," Maleficent said. "Again, thank you for the stole." She snapped her fingers, and the mirror fogged over again.

Maleficent looked at the stole in her hand. It was brown – light brown – and didn't match very well with her skin tone. She pointed at it, and it turned black. "Much better," she said approvingly. But she couldn't wear only the stole on the date.

Well, she could. But that would suggest a very different sort of date, and that was an occasion she was quite certain she was not prepared for.

"Ursula," she said to herself. "Ursula will have some idea what to do." She turned to the mirror. "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, send a message to Ursula's hall!"

"As you wish," the mirror said. Maleficent thought she detected a note of irritation, but she didn't have time to consider. Ursula's squashed, round gray face was already appearing.

"Mal!" Ursula exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise." She oozed through the water to a small coral couch that barely fit her girth, where she lounged, leering at Maleficent's reflection.

Maleficent carefully kept her expression blank. She hated that nickname. "Hello, Ursula," she said. "I have… a boon to ask of you."

Ursula arched a brow. "Have anything to do with that hot date tonight?"

Maleficent sighed a barely audible sigh. "Who told?"

"Oh, everybody's talking about it, honey," Ursula said, waving a hand. Bubbles rose up towards the surface as she did so, seemingly attempting to flee. "You're the gossip girl of the hour."

"How delightful," Maleficent said, without a trace of delight. "Kindly remind our follow denizens of the dark that my love life is not up for discussion."

"Is that all you wanted to ask?" Ursula said, looking put out.

Maleficent sighed again. "No," she admitted. "I… need something to wear. I have nothing to suit the occasion."

"Well, don't look at me," Ursula said, giving a raucous laugh. "I only wear these tentacles, and they're 100% natural! Unless you feel like skinning me, I'll keep them."

"Oh, skinning you wouldn't be the problem," Maleficent said, gritting her teeth. "But I don't think tentacles would suit me. I don't suppose you have any other useful advice for going on a date?"

"Plenty," Ursula cackled. She leaned forward confidentially, leering so widely that Maleficent momentarily though her face had split in half. "What you need is _body language_," Ursula advised, shaking her curves. "You know, less talking with the mouth and more with the hips. Men in your part don't like a lot of blabber – they think a girl who gossips is a bore."

"Is that so?" Maleficent said absently. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"Well, honestly, what is idle prattle for anyway?" Ursula continued with a snort. "They're really not that impressed with conversation. If he's a real gentleman – which of course he isn't, as he's one of ours – he'll avoid it if he can."

Fair enough, Maleficent thought. He'd never struck her as the chatty type.

"But I promise he'll dote and swoon and fawn on a lady who's withdrawn," Ursula said, waggling a finger at Maleficent. She paused, then laughed. "Oh! That rhymed! I'm a poet and I don't know it! Hilarious!"

"Was it?" Maleficent said coldly.

Ursula stopped laughing and cleared her throat. "You've already won him over with that icy demeanor, of course," she mumbled, more subdued. "Just keep at it and you'll have him."

"Very well."

"It's she who holds her tongue who gets her man, you know," Ursula concluded, with a satisfied look.

"Yes, I gathered that from all you've said," Maleficent said. "Thank you for the advice – such as it is. I think I might try someone else for a dress."

"Just tighten a few seams here and there and cut a low neckline in that cloak you have," Ursula advised. "You could do with a bit of Narissa's flair for style."

Maleficent frowned. "Narissa?"

"The newbie," Ursula explained. "The one from Andalasia?"

"Oh," Maleficent sighed. "Her. I had quite forgotten her."

"She adores you, you know," Ursula said. "Wants to be just like you."

"So I've noticed," Maleficent growled. And she had noticed. Narissa had stolen her shape-shifting form (a dragon), gone for the same colors in her clothes, and had even gotten voice training so that she sounded as much like Maleficent as she could. Maleficent had always known her position as Mistress of All Evil would garner some fans, but being that obsessive – and that unoriginal – disgusted her. Still, Narissa did have a flair for fashion – tighter gowns with more daring necklines and a lot more leg than Maleficent had ever dared to show. Maybe the suggestion wasn't so awful. "Perhaps I shall try her next," Maleficent said. She paused. "Oh, how is your plan to overthrow King Triton doing?" It was only polite that she ask.

Ursula groaned and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "Badly," she snarled. "Very badly. I've nothing on the man – nothing! Other than that he's an idiot, of course. But what use is that? They're all idiots over there. They love the man. I'll need to find a way to get close to him…"

"I suggest the daughters," Maleficent said, casually studying her fingernails. They were immaculately clean and filed to a point, sharp enough to draw blood even if she barely grazed her opponent's skin. "Triton must love them dearly. The easiest way to get to someone is through their loved ones."

"That's true!" Ursula said, brightening. "You're brilliant, Mal."

"I know," Maleficent said dismissively. She snapped her fingers and halted the communication. There was no use for polite good-byes amongst villains.

Maleficent stared at her own reflection for a few moments. She wondered if she should drape a veil over her horns. Would that look too medieval? She didn't want to look like a princess from the Dark Ages. If it could be avoided, she didn't want to look like _any_ sort of princess.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, send a message to Narissa's hall," she ordered.

"As you wish," said the mirror.

The mirror swirled, and Narissa appeared, a hand on her hip. Maleficent suspected that Narissa was one of those women who'd lived her best years in high school and had never gotten over them. "Why, Maleficent!" Narissa cried, clapping her hands together in delight. "How wonderful of you to call! What may I do for you?"

Maleficent immediately regretted her decision to call. Acting servile to another villain – even one so impressive as herself – was disgusting. "I am… going out tonight," Maleficent began. "I'm afraid my usual attire won't suit the occasion. I – "

"Ooh, this is about the date, isn't it?" Narissa squealed. "I was so excited when I heard! Where is he taking you? Is it some exotic Arabian place? Is – "

"Narissa!" Maleficent snapped. "We are villains. We do not disgrace ourselves with such… flailing."

Narissa immediately drew herself up. "Of course, Maleficent," she said. She stood there a few seconds, looking awkward. "But… then… you need a dress?"

Maleficent started to nod, but didn't have time to speak. "I wish you'd said so at once!" Narissa exclaimed. "Here, let me go through my wardrobe. Oh, let's see, would you like something with a bit of green in it? Here's something with green. What about purple? You like purple, don't you? You've always had some on your robe. And what about – "

"Narissa," Maleficent interrupted.

" – Here's some blue. Do you ever wear blue? It might look nice with the green. Pink and green is a terrible combination, we'll avoid that. What about yellow? No, that would make you look sickly, wouldn't it?"

"Narissa!" Maleficent said sharply. "You don't even know that we're the same size."

Narissa's face fell. "You're right," she said. "I hadn't thought of that. You'd be slimmer than me, I imagine."

Maleficent made certain to look smug about this.

Narissa brightened at once. "There's an easy solution to this, of course," she said. ""I hear Lady Tremaine has a stepdaughter who's ace at refurbishing old gowns."

Lady Tremaine. Of course. Maleficent felt stupid for not thinking of her sooner. "Her stepdaughter? Really? I had not realized she had such skill."

"Not by choice, of course," Narissa said, with a wicked smile. She had a good evil smile; Maleficent had to admit that. "The girl is a servant in their household. She's done chores ever since her father died."

"I know that," Maleficent snapped. "I had forgotten how long she has been in the household." Maleficent studied the dresses Narissa had thrown on the bed. "I'll take this one, if you don't mind," she said, reaching through and grabbing one that was black, purple, and green. "You won't be angry if it's altered?"

"Oh, not at all," Narissa said. "Keep it if you like."

"I may just." Maleficent snapped her fingers and closed off the connection, eagerly slipping on the dress. It was, as she had feared, too large. She had many preparations to make before Jafar arrived to pick her up, and while her magic was powerful, she didn't want to waste it. She called Lady Tremaine.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she said, "Send a message to Lady Tremaine's hall."

"As you wish," the mirror replied. It paused. "You know," it said, "That didn't really follow an appropriate rhythm for a couplet."

"Just do as I ask," Maleficent hissed, "Or I will break you into thousands of pieces and melt you with dragon's breath, borrowed or no!"

The face in the mirror cringed. "Of course, my Queen, of course," it said.

"I'm not the Queen," Maleficent muttered, but it didn't matter; the mirror was already blurring.

Lady Tremaine soon appeared in the mirror, looking appropriately dignified. Maleficent nodded at her in approval. Of all her villainess acquaintances, Lady Tremaine was the one she thought most highly of – the one closest to what she might call a friend, if she did not, as a rule, refuse to have friends. "Greetings, Maleficent," Lady Tremaine said, bowing her head. "How may I help you?"

"I am in need of some assistance with my wardrobe," Maleficent said, waving a frustrated hand in the air. "I am going out tonight, you see – I imagine you heard – "

"I might have heard a rumor, somewhere," Lady Tremaine said with another graceful nod. That was the other thing Maleficent liked about Lady Tremaine – she was subtle, and never really acknowledged that she listened to gossip.

"Unfortunately I'm afraid my usual garb is not appropriate for the occasion," Maleficent continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "I borrowed a dress from Narissa, but it's too large. Narissa thought you had a girl who could sew."

"She must have meant my stepdaughter," Lady Tremaine said, her voice oozing disdain. "Yes, she's quite a good seamstress. But when is the… ah… event?"

"Tonight, seven o'clock," Maleficent said promptly.

Lady Tremaine arched a brow. "She will have to work very quickly, of course."

"I assume she is capable of doing so," Maleficent said.

"Of course, of course," Lady Tremaine soothed. "But I wonder if it wouldn't be faster to use your powers to alter the garment?"

Maleficent sighed. "I'd rather save them for other preparations," she said. "And anyway I have no idea what the finished product should look like. You've done this more recently than I, what with your new husband."

"Not precisely new," Lady Tremaine laughed. "He died nearly fourteen years ago."

"Then you've been – what is it they say – on the dating scene more recently than I," Maleficent replied.

"So it is a date!" Lady Tremaine cried, then forcefully slipped back into her calm demeanor. "I would not recommend any major alterations to your current wardrobe," she said, studying her nails. "That would be implying that you are one thing in public and another in private. I am sure your gentleman caller admires your villainy and cunning, and you hardly want to soften those features for him."

"I never intended to," Maleficent said. "But the cloak, while perfect for villainy, is too…"

"Bulky," Lady Tremaine finished. "Agreed. Let me see the dress you borrowed."

Maleficent held it up for Lady Tremaine's inspection. "I thought the colors were appropriate," she said.

"It will have to be significantly altered," Lady Tremaine observed. "You're much thinner than Narissa. Does she mind the alterations?"

"She told me I could keep it."

Lady Tremaine arched a disapproving eyebrow. "Generosity in a villain?"

Maleficent rolled her eyes. "I know," she sighed. "The woman needs a bit of work. But with some shaping I imagine she could be quite good at what she does."

"Let's hope so – she's the freshest face of villainy," Lady Tremaine said. "Here, pass it over."

Maleficent passed the dress through the mirror. Lady Tremaine was not surprised. She wasn't surprised by much that Maleficent did anymore. The two were what passed as best friends in the world of evil. "There's a fur stole I borrowed from Cruella – "

"Not necessary," Lady Tremaine said instantly. "A dress like this requires bare shoulders and back." She sighed. "It's been quite a long time since I've been able to wear dresses like this." She touched the high collar of her dress and glanced longingly in the direction of her two daughters, both of whom were, by necessity, quite ugly – or at least ridiculous. Maleficent wasn't entirely certain why they were so unattractive – Lady Tremaine herself had been quite a beauty when she was their age. It could still be seen in her face, if you looked closely enough.

Lady Tremaine abruptly straightened and smiled, her hand dropping away from her throat. "I'll have Cinderella working on it in moments," she assured Maleficent. "You make your preparations. Shall we say six o'clock for a pick-up?"

"Perfect," Maleficent said. "Create some misery in that stepdaughter's life."

Lady Tremaine smirked. "Oh, I always do," she promised. They cut the connection simultaneously.

Maleficent smiled. The wardrobe malfunction was taken care of – now to the other details…

*


	2. Chapter 2: Ruffles and Things

CHAPTER 2

Ruffles and Things

It did not often happen that Jafar was nervous. He had seen and done far too many things to be flighty.

But Maleficent made him nervous. Allah, she did. Not that that was surprising. She unnerved every villain. She was, after all, the Mistress of All Evil.

He had not expected to survive his bold request to take her out to dinner. He had expected a fight to the death, elegant villain style, and he had expected to be defeated.

Instead, he'd found himself standing in front of speechless – and blushing – Maleficent.

He'd made her _blush_.

Damn, but he was good – or, rather, spectacularly evil.

Still, just because he had survived the request did not mean that he would survive the actual date. If he did the slightest thing wrong, Maleficent would kill him – and rightly so. So he had to be perfectly behaved. He had to tap into his wickedest core. He had to be the Evil Grand Vizier that he was, deep down inside.

He examined himself in the mirror. Evil Grand Vizier had a classy ring to it, but it wasn't as impressive as Master Black Magic Sorcerer, or Wicked Sultan Sorcerer. Inwardly, he seethed. He'd badly bungled _that_ operation, losing the throne and being outwitted by a street rat. But then, it seemed every villain always bungled his or her brilliant schemes in the end. Fate must be against them – or, rather, the Three Fates. He'd have to speak to Hades about that tomorrow. Hades would probably have summoned them to get all the details about the date, anyway. Honestly, he was as bad as Ursula and Cruella.

Jafar straightened his hat and drew himself up to his full height, cutting his head out of the mirror's reflection. He was extremely tall – always had been. It was wonderful for intimidating foes, but he wasn't the tall and burly type that made women swoon. It was difficult for him to admit that to himself. He immediately directed that train of thought elsewhere.

Was his usual outfit suitable? Of course not. Dining with Maleficent, Queen Mother of Wickedness, required something much more impressive. But what else did he have? He didn't look good in white – he'd caught a glimpse of his reflection while he wore Sultan robes and balked in horror at the sight. So the white robes were a no. Black and red had always suited him, but that was his daily fare. Perhaps if he used the robes that were primarily red with black accents? He snapped his fingers, and the robes appeared. Marvelous. He instructed the robe to add in some intricate black embroidery – various symbols and markings of evil from around the world – and he was set.

He would polish his cobra staff, comb the feather in his hat, and then go to fetch Maleficent. He had considered making a reservation in advance at the restaurant, just to make certain they could get in, but that was such a hero thing to do. No, he must intimidate his way in. It was the only way to solidify Maleficent's good impression of him.

He checked the time. Five-thirty. He had an hour and half. And he had to be punctual. Perfect timing was essential to a villain's image. That was another thing – he needed to think up the appropriate entrance technique.

Damn. Why hadn't he planned this better? Maleficent never had these problems. She planned for everything.

Sighing, Jafar set his mind to more useful occupations and went to polish his cobra staff.

*

Cinderella didn't enjoy the work she did, mostly, but she loved sewing. As she repaired her stepsisters' gowns, she always imagined that she was making herself a beautiful ball gown and going to dance with the handsome Prince Charming. Well, Prince Charming II, technically. Not because his father had been Prince Charming, but because there was another Prince Charming floating about. Charming and Charming. They were both handsome and dashing, and they both had beautiful singing voices. They were, in a word, perfect.

Normally Cinderella would have been daydreaming happily about them as she worked. But it was difficult for her to picture herself going to the ball in this scoop-necked, thigh-high-slitted dress. It was scandalous. It was trashy. It was an offense to anyone of good taste.

Also it was black, and she couldn't possibly wear a black dress to a ball. Only bad girls did that.

It hadn't been remotely difficult for Cinderella to make the appropriate size adjustments. She always had to change sizes for her stepsisters, although the person who was to wear this dress was obviously much smaller than either of Cinderella's stepsisters. Cinderella herself might have been able to fit in the dress with its new changes, but no one else would.

Finished now, Cinderella hung the dress on the back of a screen and examined it closely. Yes, it looked appropriately sized, if the measurements she had been given were correct. But the dress itself was so – so – so…

Well, it needed a few adjustments, that's all.

Of course, she had not been directed to add any decorations to the dress. It needs to be tailored, said her stepmother. Here are the measurements. Change it. If it isn't done by six o'clock, I will beat you with a broomstick and you will have no supper. Thank you and good night.

"Humph," said Cinderella to herself. "She can't seriously expect any of her friends to go out in a dress so immodest. She'll be a laughingstock! Everyone will think she's a villain, or something much worse."

She turned and clapped her hands. Several mice came rushing out of a hole in the wall. "Hello, little friends," she said, smiling sweetly at them. "Would you fetch me my ribbon and lace? I have a project to improve upon."

The mice were off in a jiffy to fetch the necessary supplies.

Cinderella turned back to the dress with a thoughtful frown. Some lace around the neckline – that ought to cover most of the immodestly exposed cleavage, and add an element of sweetness. It would be purple lace, because there was a lot of purple in the gown. And then a panel of purple petticoat at the front, to fill in that enormous slit in the skirt. That too would be covered in purple lace. Add some puffy lace sleeves and a lot of ribbon, and voila! A perfect ball gown.

Whoever Lady Tremaine meant to have the dress would no doubt be very grateful for the changes.

*

For once in her life, Maleficent was running late.

It wasn't entirely her fault. That idiot Prince Phillip and his gang of heroes, who always went after her at the most inconvenient times, had attacked her. She'd had to deal with them herself, because of course her idiot minions hadn't been able to handle them. She'd told herself many times that she needed some smarter soldiers, but she worried that they would turn on her. Intelligence was dangerous in this business.

So it was six forty-five, by her count, and she still hadn't gotten her dress. She was busy with a magic facial, to make sure her skin was smooth and the appropriate shade of green. She was also trying to fortify all the gates with magic, lest the crew belonging to Charming and Charming try and return for a second attack. She was also making a series of poison apples for The Queen, for borrowing The Queen's mirror to communicate with the other villainesses. Well, "stealing" was probably the appropriate term, but what was a little stealing amongst villains?

She finished her facial, put the final touches on her defenses, and gave up on making the poison apples. She stormed into her room and went directly to the magic mirror. "Lady Tremaine," she barked.

"You didn't say the couplet," the mirror said.

"Nor will I," Maleficent snapped. "You know what to do!"

"Villains these days," the mirror grumbled. "No professionalism." But it opened the connection – only it wasn't Lady Tremaine Maleficent was facing, but a beautiful blonde girl with wide blue eyes and a smile sweet enough to rot teeth.

Ugh. A heroine.

"Are you the stepdaughter?" Maleficent demanded.

The girl looked surprised, and quite frightened. "I am," she said, her voice musical and lovely. "I'm Cinderella. Who are you, O Great and Terrible Demon of the Night?"

Well, at least the girl knew how to compliment a villain. "I am Maleficent, Mistress of All Evil," Maleficent replied, drawing herself up regally. "I believe you were repairing a dress for me."

The girl looked delighted. "Oh yes!" she said. "I have it right here! Wait until you see it – it's just lovely!"

She brought out a neatly wrapped box. The thing even had a bright bow on it with a little flower. Sickening. "How very… kind of you," Maleficent said, observing the bow with distaste. "I'll just take that, thank you." She reached through the mirror and grabbed the box out of the girl's hands.

The girl stared at her now-empty fingers in awe. "But – how did you – where - ?" She hesitated, looked at the mirror, back at her hands, and then screamed.

"Oh, Lord in Hell," Maleficent grumbled. "Thank you for the dress," she shouted over the girl's screams, and cut off the connection.

She had maybe seven minutes before Jafar was due to pick her up. She ducked hurriedly behind the dressing screen, tore off the bow and the box lid – and then she, too, screamed.

The dress. It was – oh Satan, it was –

Well, it was a heroine's dress now. There was a great swath of purple silk at the waist, and a panel of purple fabric put in to cover the legs. Green ribbons accented puffy lace sleeves. The neckline had both ribbon and lace.

It was a monstrosity. It was hideous. It must be destroyed at once, or –

It was at precisely that moment there was a flash of bright light and smoke. Maleficent peered around the screen in mute horror.

Out of the dark red smoke and tongues of flame stepped Jafar.

"Greetings, Queen of Darkness," he said, bowing deeply. "Ready to go?"

Maleficent was too dignified to break down crying in situations like this. She was a villainess, damn it all – not a weakling heroine.

But she wasn't too dignified to curse.

She ducked behind the screen and muttered, "_Shit_."


	3. Chapter 3: The Vanishing Isle

CHAPTER 3

The Vanishing Isle

Jafar was rather surprised when he realized that Maleficent was hiding behind the screen rather than talking to him. He wondered what he had done wrong. He had timed the entrance perfectly, and he had thought the flames and smoke were a nice touch. Apparently, Maleficent didn't agree.

But then why would she be hiding from him? If he'd done something wrong, she would have killed him by now… wouldn't she?

He coughed and shuffled awkwardly.

He thought he heard Maleficent curse. He arched an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn't that he disapproved of cursing – it just didn't happen very often in their corner of the villain universe. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"Um." He saw the vague shadow of Maleficent's form shifting behind the screen. "Um."

"Should I take that as a 'yes'?"

She peeked over the top of the screen. She was incredibly tall. Jafar knew this, of course, but it was different, seeing her in person. He noted that her cheeks were very bright green – blushing again. "Nothing I can't handle," she said, too cheerfully. "Just give me a moment…"

She ducked behind the screen again. Jafar watched the tips of her horns bobbing back and forth above the screen, and listened with growing concern to the words she was muttering.

"Let's see… remove that… no, not that, the other – blast it, not _that_ – yes, and remove that bit there – oh, marvelous, you've taken the whole sleeve…"

Jafar shifted uncomfortably. He glanced around the room. There was the wall of portraits that he had heard about – every villain in the crew. There was a dressing table, a very ornate mirror – probably belonging to The Queen – and a shelf of books. Maleficent was studious, then. Jafar was not surprised.

"I don't suppose you happen to know a spell for removing ribbon?" Maleficent asked hopefully.

"Removing ribbon?" Jafar repeated, turning back to the screen. "I'm afraid not."

"No, I don't suppose that's something you do very often," Maleficent sighed.

"May I ask what, precisely, you're removing ribbon from?" he inquired hesitantly. He was being remarkably bold, he thought. Either Maleficent wasn't herself today, or she really liked him. He hoped it was the latter.

"No, you may not!" Maleficent said sharply. Very well; perhaps he wasn't in her good graces. Not so much as he had hoped, at any rate.

"Apologies, Maleficent," he said, bowing though she couldn't see him. "I only wanted to assist you if possible."

"Yes, well." Maleficent sounded quite flustered, and from her agitated movements it seemed something was upsetting her greatly. "I don't suppose you could try coming back in five minutes?"

Ah. That was it. His timing was off. Blast it, he'd worked so hard to get it right. "If that is what you wish," he said.

"Yes. _Please_. Five minutes."

"I'll be back in exactly five," he promised. He snapped his fingers and disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

*

"Blast!" Maleficent swore as soon as Jafar had gone. She charged out from behind the screen and threw the dress across the dressing table. "What can be done, what can be done…"

There wasn't time to repair the dress. Not properly. She glared at the puffy lace sleeves, and they disappeared. Now the dress had no sleeves. "Well done, Mal," Maleficent muttered to herself – then winced she recognized what she'd called herself. "Ugh," she groaned, and set to getting rid of the ribbon. It was very stubborn ribbon – it had been in the presence of a princess too long, and had some difficulty responding properly to evil. "Get _off_!" she ordered, and the ribbons finally snapped off, falling listlessly to the floor around the dress.

Now time for the purple fabric. She focused on it, glaring at the petticoat that hid the slit. It ripped down the middle first, and then began to rip away from the center in long lilac-colored strips, until there were only two thin strips left firmly attached on either side. Maleficent was about to attack them when she noticed the time. He'd be back in one minute. Frantically, she grabbed the dress, threw it on, and dove for Cruella's fur stole. Thank Satan she hadn't returned it. She needed something over her extremely bare shoulders, or she would look a great fool.

She remembered, with thirty seconds to go, that there was ribbon and lace lying on the floor. Tugging her headdress off of her head, she summoned the green ribbons to her and wove them through her hair, making a long black and green braid that trailed down her back. She realized in horror that there was some fabric added in the back to hide much of her skin from viewers, but there was nothing to be done now. She shoved her horned headdress back on, braid trailing down her back, and called the purple fabric to her. Snapping her fingers, she created a set of fingerless gloves woven with green ribbon. Whatever was left over she shoved behind the screen, right as long thin coils of smoke began appearing in the center of the room.

She hurried to lounge languidly against her dresser, pretending she had been perfectly prepared already. She watched with considerable approval as the coils of smoke turned into dark black serpents, who coiled around each other and sailed up towards the ceiling, completely obscuring the very center of the room. With several loud hisses, the snakes disappeared, and red fire erupted with an enormous crash. It danced and flickered, swirling in a furious spiral to touch the ceiling. Maleficent watched as it charred the stone it touched, amused. Compensating for his beginning entrance, she expected – which was unfortunate, because his beginning entrance had been fine. It was her fault that it hadn't run so smoothly.

The fire parted to reveal a dark swirl of smoke that became Jafar, complete with cobra staff. Then the fire shrank and darted away from Jafar's feet in all directions, again shaped like snakes. The snakes arched their backs, somersaulted midair, and disappeared as one.

Maleficent thought he deserved some kind of reward for such a performance. She opted for a golf clap. "Brilliant entrance," she said as he turned to face her. "You'd terrify any princess unfortunate enough to be in the way."

"That was my hope," he said, bowing. She noticed he continued looking up even as he bowed. What was the term – checking her out? Yes. That was it.

"You look positively wicked," he said, sailing gracefully over to her. "Are you ready to go?"

"Of course," Maleficent said, taking his arm when it was offered. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Jafar said. He lifted his cobra staff, and the room disappeared in a swirl of flame. Maleficent blinked, thoroughly dazzled.

When he waved his staff again, the fire disappeared, and Maleficent found herself standing in a room entirely made of gold. There were turtles everywhere she looked, and thick panes of glass in every window, looking out into –

"The ocean!" Maleficent exclaimed.

"Yes," Jafar said, smirking. "This is the Vanishing Isle – never in the same place twice. Originally it held the Hand of Midas, but some thieves stole that after the entire place was turned to gold. It made an appearance somewhere around American, in Florida I think, and they turned it into a restaurant and tourist operation. Very popular, when it surfaces."

"I would imagine so," Maleficent said, impressed despite herself. "How does it move? We are moving, aren't we?"

"We are indeed," Jafar confirmed. "It's on the back of a giant turtle."

She looked at him incredulously. "You're joking," she said. He arched a brow, and she returned the gesture. "You're serious?"

"Deathly." He grinned. "Normally, they're not open for business while under the water, but I hate crowds, and I imagine you're not very fond of them either."

Maleficent smiled impishly. "So I imagine we'll have to do a bit of convincing for the wait staff to serve us."

"Oh, unquestionably," Jafar said.

"Sounds wonderful," Maleficent purred.

Jafar grinned. "I thought so myself," he said. "Shall we?"

"Oh, we shall," Maleficent replied.

*

The maitre d' did not have much of a purpose when the Vanishing Isle was below the ocean. Of course, neither did the waiters – no one to wait on and no tables to clear. The remaining staff cooked, tried to estimate where they would next appear, and sent ongoing reports to their on-land contacts.

At down times, the waiters spent their time in the carefully refurbished rooms in the upper floors of the restaurant. There were several buildings in the city that served as apartments to the staff. The rest were hotels, gift shops, cinemas, and museums dedicated to the tourist trade. The whole thing was connected by large walkways of magically reinforced glass, courtesy of some fairies. The glass didn't break despite the pressure of the ocean, and it allowed the staff to look at the ocean rushing past as the turtle moved the Isle about.

For an incredibly large sum, guests could stay on the Vanishing Isle while it traveled – but there was no guarantee where they would end up, and they would have to find their own way home from there. Because of this particular detail, and because of the outrageous price, very few people had ever taken advantage of this opportunity.

There weren't any guests who had chosen this option aboard the Isle at the moment, so the maitre d' had no one to serve, really. Still, unlike his waiter compatriots, who all headed back to their rooms for fun and games when the turtle went under, the maitre d' took his post every day at the same times he would when working, and stayed there until his break times. It was his job, and if he was going to do it he was going to do it well, and be thoroughly dedicated to it. He knew no one would come to see him, but that didn't matter – even if it did get lonely. Sometimes he fantasized that one of the very attractive young waitresses came by to visit him and professed her undying love for him, and then they ran away in one of the emergency subs and opened a small restaurant in the countryside of France and lived happily ever after.

He was having this exact fantasy when he realized that a shiny gold cobra head was staring him in the face.

"Aaaaaaahhh!" He jumped up and leapt backwards, pressed against the wall. He was facing some horrendous-looking customers. The man with the cobra staff was terrifyingly tall and thin, and was casting him the nastiest and most disdainful glare the maitre d' had ever seen – and he had seen many. Next to this man stood a green woman with black horns. She too was glaring at the maitre d', a glare almost as ferocious as her counterpart's.

"Table for two," said the man. "Jafar. J-a-f-a-r. If I wait more than five minutes for a table to be prepared, I blast your head off with this staff. Yes?"

"Uh…" The maitre d' looked between the two of them. "How did you get here? We've not yet surfaced, have we?"

"No, you haven't," the man called Jafar said. "But what does it matter? We're here, and so are you. Do your job."

The maitre d' blinked at Jafar for a few moments. He was still glaring. The maitre d' thought his face might well melt off if it continued to be the focus of that glare. "I… uh… it's not that simple," he protested. "We're closed." He pointed to the sign. "See? We even have a sign."

Jafar snapped his fingers. The sign, which was made of solid stone and had fairy lights inside it that lit up whenever the turtle dove underwater, magically changed the letters to spell 'Open.' "Now you aren't," Jafar said, smiling. No, that wasn't a smile. It was an evil smirk, a grin, a – a facial expression so evil, it didn't even have proper term invented for it yet. A _smigreer, _the maitre d' decided to call it. He hoped the woman might be more docile than Jafar, but no – her smigreer was worse than Jafar's.

"Four and a half minutes," Jafar said, glancing up at the clock over the maitre d's head.

"No need for that, sir," the maitre d' said, sincerely wishing he had a napkin with which to wipe his brow. "I, uh… I'll just alert the kitchen staff, then."

"Be quick about it," Jafar said. "You're down to four minutes twenty-six seconds, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two…"

The maitre d' turned and ran faster than he ever had to the kitchen. He burst through the door and grabbed the nearest cook. "Are you ready to cook some orders?" he asked, panicked.

The cook blinked. "Sure," she said. "But we've not gone up yet, have we?"

"No, but we have customers!"

"But nobody's staying aboard – "

"I know!" The maitre d' paused and drew in a deep breath. "Just get together the kitchen staff. And send me a waiter!"

"The waiters are halfway across town!" the cook exclaimed. "We've only got Emeny Morning here!"

"Oh no," the maitre d' said. "We can't give these people Emeny. They'll slaughter her."

"Well, do you want to serve them?" the cook snapped.

The maitre d' rubbed his eyes. "All right," he said. "Get Emeny in here now. And put Charming and Charming on the line – I think we need their help."

The cook gasped. "Villains, sir?"

"Without a doubt," the maitre d' said grimly. "Now get to work!"

"Yes, sir," the cook said, hurrying off to the kitchens.

The maitre d' composed himself as best he could and hurried back to his station. "Good news!" he said cheerfully. "We've found you a table!"

"Just in time," Jafar observed. "You were down to fifty-one seconds."

The maitre d' forced a smile. "If you'll come with me, sir, it's just this way…"

He held open the door for the terrifyingly tall duo and rushed to show them to a table. Fortunately the tables were already made, in preparation for the Surfacing, which their experts predicted would happen soon. "Your waiter will be with you in a few moments," he said, handing them menus. "Enjoy your dinner."

"We plan to," Jafar said, waving a dismissive hand in the maitre d's direction.

Terrified and sweaty, the maitre d' hurried off to his post and slumped against the wall. Thank goodness he was done with them. Hopefully Emeny would distract them while the maitre d' got Charming and Charming on the line – assuming, of course, that these people didn't kill her within the first few minutes of her serving them. It would be good riddance to Emeny, but terrible for him. He'd have to serve them himself.

He jumped when the phone next to him began to ring. The fairies had magicked it, too, when the new owners had asked for their assistance. It could receive calls anywhere.

He grabbed it and whispered furtively into it, "Charming?"

"Yes?" replied two almost perfectly matched voices.

"We've got a big problem down here," he hissed. "Some villains just strolled right in and want dinner!"

"Aren't you still under?" one Charming asked.

"Yes!"

"That's not good," said the other Charming.

"Do you happen to know which villains have broken in?" the first Charming asked.

"One of them is named Jafar," the maitre d' said. "And he's brought a lady with him – a green lady, with horns."

"Maleficent?" the two chorused.

"I suppose," the maitre d' said. "She didn't give her name."

There was a pause. "Is this a _date_?" the second Charming asked.

"I would assume so," the maitre d' said.

"Oh, dear," the first Charming said.

"Oh, _dear_," the second Charming agreed.

"Listen, we'll get someone down there right away," the first Charming promised.

"Right away," echoed the second Charming.

"Just distract them while we get there," said the first Charming.

"And don't try and fight them yourself!" the second Charming warned.

"Good-bye!" they added simultaneously, and hung up.

The maitre d' slumped back against the wall and hung up the phone. Thank God. They were coming. They would save him.

*

At the headquarters of Charming and Charming, Heroes Ltd, Charming and Charming hung up their phones and turned to look at each other. They were perfect – handsome faces, great hairdos, and classic prince clothes. Their shoes were polished. They were squeaky clean mama's boys, the kids who won all the awards for helping others at school.

They looked at each other, sighed as one, and both said, "Fuck."

*


	4. Chapter 4: Charming and Charming, Ltd

Chapter 4

Charming and Charming, Ltd

Charming I looked at Charming II. Charming II looked back.

Charming I blinked. Charming II also blinked.

"Well," said Charming I.

"Hmm," said Charming II.

They stopped speaking, and continued to stare. Charming and Charming did a lot of standing around and staring, generally speaking. It was what they did best, aside from looking well groomed and attractive. And singing. They were both excellent at that, too, as all princes were required to be. Thinking, however, wasn't their forte. It always took the princes a few moments to think of something to say in situations like this. But then, situations like this didn't often arise.

"Jafar and Maleficent," said Charming I, still not entirely recovered from the news.

"That sounds very bad," said Charming II.

"I can't believe it," Charming I said, running a hand over his brow. "I thought villains didn't go in for that sort of thing."

"Romance doesn't seem like their cup of tea," Charming II agreed.

"I don't think villains drink tea," Charming I said, frowning. "I think they drink poison. They seem to like dangerous bright green drinks, at any rate."

"Like Appletinis!" said Charming II.

"Charming!" snapped Charming I. "We don't drink alcohol! We're Disney idols, for pity's sake. We're here for the children!"

Charming II looked sheepish. "Well, what if we only do it on weekends, say… when no one is watching?"

"No," Charming I said flatly. "It's bad PR. Very bad PR. And Disney doesn't need that."

"That's not really important now," Charming II said hastily. "What about the wicked duo? What are we going to do?"

"Stop them – obviously," Charming I said, brushing some dust off of his shoulder. "What else would we do?"

"It's just – never mind."

Charming I paused, glancing curiously at his counterpart. "What?"

"No, it's probably a stupid thought."

"Share anyway." Charming I crossed his arms over his chest. "If you've thought of some weakness, some problem, we need to know about it at once. These two are impossible to deal with. Together…"

Both princes shuddered.

"All right," Charming II sighed. "It's just that I don't know if we can rightfully interfere with love."

Charming I blinked. "Love?" he repeated. "Who said anything about love? This is _villainy _we're talking about, Charming. Pay attention, for heaven's sake."

"I was paying attention!" Charming II said. "How can you say love isn't involved?"

"How can you say that it is?" Charming I replied with equal ire.

"Well…" Charming II shifted uncomfortably, now uncertain. "They're on a date, yes?"

Charming I tapped his fingers impatiently on his arm. "So we assume," he said.

"And dates, in general, lead to love and long-lasting relationships, yes?" Charming II continued.

"Presumably… if we are speaking of normal, well-adjusted people such as ourselves," Charming I said, frowning suspiciously. "Where are you going with this?"

"Well, love is a good thing, isn't it?" Charming II said. "And if Jafar and Maleficent are on a date, then logically this date will need to another date, and another date, and eventually to love, devotion, trust, etc."

"Logically - if they were heroes," Charming I agreed. "But it seems more likely that they'll do battle and kill each other before the date's over. That, at least, would solve a number of our problems."

"No it wouldn't," Charming II said. "They'd just come back. They always do."

"Granted," Charming I said.

"But I still think I'm right," Charming II insisted. "If this date goes well, they'll go out again, and again, and again, and eventually fall in love and marry just like normal people."

"Blasphemy!" Charming I exclaimed.

Charming II ignored him. "And if they are capable of love," he said, "Then they are capable of good, and are beginning to feel it within them, and heed it. So interfering with blossoming love in the hearts of our wickedest might be considered an evil thing to do," he finished triumphantly. "And we can't do evil things. We're _princes_."

Charming I considered this, stroking his beardless chin thoughtfully. "I don't think love – but it isn't love," he said, stopping mid-speech. "It can't be, because it's villains. But what's the word? What's the word?" He frowned deeply.

"Um… evilove?" Charming II proposed.

"Appropriate, but not a real word," Charming I said. "Where did you come up with that one?"

"Well, it's a song," Charming II said. "By this band Lordi? They're all made up of monsters, you see, and – "

"You listen to monster metal?" Charming I was aghast.

"Well… maybe a little," Charming II admitted.

"Charming!" Charming I cried, exasperated. "This is unacceptable behavior. We listen to swing dance music and romantic love songs and musicals – _not_ heavy metal."

"Yes, I know," Charming II said glumly. "But some of the villains have accusing us of being…"

Charming I sighed and raised an eyebrow, annoyed. "Being what, Charming?"

Charming II coughed. "Batting for the other team, if you catch my meaning."

Charming I frowned. "We don't play baseball," he said.

"I know," Charming II said. "That confused me too. But it's a euf – a euphren – euphast – "

"Euphemism?"

"Yes!" Charming II snapped his fingers. "A eupranmism."

"—Euphemism."

"Right. Sorry."

Charming I was still frowning. "What is it a euphemism for, then?"

"Well…" Charming II coughed. "For being a tad bit on the queer end, if you understand."

Charming I blinked.

"Gay," Charming II said.

Charming I gasped. "Don't say that word!" he hissed. "This is supposed to be a family friendly piece! Don't involve politics in it!" He coughed and shifted away from Charming II. "And that's ridiculous anyway," he said. "We're the Knights in Shining Armor, the princes on the white charger, the hero saving the heroine from a life of destitution and sadness!"

"I know, I know," Charming II rushed to assure him. "The villains just like to spread rumors."

"Seeing as they are villains," Charming I said coldly, "I don't believe we need to be concerned about what they say. It's not as though anyone will believe them." He waved a hand to dismiss the idea. "And anyway, the last thing we need to be discussing is villain gossip," he continued. "What we should be talking about is this… _attraction _between our nemeses."

"Attraction?" Charming II repeated.

"A better word than 'love' to describe their feelings," Charming I said, "And the word I was looking for to begin with. As I was planning on saying: attraction between villains cannot be considered a good thing. Villain love – beg pardon, attraction – is only good when it blossoms between a villain and a warm, caring, beautiful, talented individual who can melt the villain's cold heart and turn him or her to the side of right."

"I only know of two of those individuals," Charming II said, "And their names are Mary Sue and Marty Stu."

"Exactly," Charming I said. "See what I mean?"

Charming II sighed. "I suppose," he said.

"Really, consider," Charming I said. "Jafar and Maleficent, two of our deadliest enemies, in – lust; marrying; having children…"

"Ugh." Charming II shuddered again. "Are they allowed to do that?"

"Would it matter if they weren't?" Charming I asked. "They never listen to the rules. That's why they're such a problem. If anything, a rule against marriage and children would only make them more eager to do it."

"This is true," Charming II admitted.

"And anyway, imagine what horrendously evil children Maleficent and Jafar would have," Charming I continued. "It would be the spawn of Satan times seven. They would be determined to destroy the entire world. And they probably would, intentionally or not."

"Point taken." Charming II put his hands on his hips and frowned, his brow creasing ever so slightly. Fortunately, the puzzled lines never remained. He was a prince. He would never have wrinkles. "Then what should we do?"

"I'm thinking about that," Charming I said. "These two are very dangerous. We'll need our best on the job if we plan to defeat them."

"But _we're_ the best," Charming II said. He paused. "Aren't we?"

"Of course," Charming I assured him. "But I meant the best underlings. Of course we ourselves can't dirty our hands. This is work for the new princes."

Charming II smiled in relief. "Yes, of course," he said. "Silly of me." He tapped his fingers on his hip. "Of course, there's quite a number of people to choose from."

"Yes," Charming I agreed slowly, "But none like Phillip and Aladdin."

"The _street rat_?" Charming II cried.

"Shh!" Charming I looked around nervously, eyes darting to and fro. "Not so loud," he whispered. "We're _princes_, Charming. We're supposed to recognize the inner worth and importance of that beggar boy!"

"But he's _poor_," Charming II complained.

"Not since he married Princess Jasmine," Charming I sighed. He smiled dreamily. "Now _there_ is a princess."

"She is a fox," Charming II agreed. "The foxiest fox. The foxiest fox that ever foxed in the history of – "

"All right, enough," Charming I snapped, holding up a hand. "We've no right to long for a princess who is not ours. And anyway, both of us have perfectly charming and lovely princesses for wives."

"I don't know," Charming II said doubtfully. "Snow White has some very outdated hair."

"Don't insult my wife's hairstyle!" Charming I bristled.

Charming II giggled. "You have to admit, it's not very modern," he said. "And what about those enormous puffed sleeves?"

"Have you looked at your own wife's ball gowns recently?" Charming I cried. "Puffed sleeves – every one!"

Charming II's smile disappeared. "Oh _yeah_?" he said. "Well, at least I'm wearing proper palace prince attire, and not some ridiculous woodland garb."

Charming I inhaled sharply. "You don't know anything about being a proper prince!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Charming II. "All you had to do was watch as a servant put a shoe on your princess's foot! You didn't even have to fight with a witch!"

"As if you did so much to ward off The Queen," Charming II sneered.

Charming I drew in a deep breath. "Look," he said, calming himself. "This is getting us nowhere. I don't want to deal with the street rat either – he is remarkably uncouth, and that monkey…" They both shuddered. "But that doesn't matter," Charming I continued. "For the sake of nobility and all that is decent, we must join with him and use his… expertise."

Charming II frowned. "Expertise?"

"Yes," Charming I said. "He _is_ the one who defeated Jafar, if you recall. And he's traveled to the Vanishing Isle with his father."

"But it's changed entirely since he was last there," Charming II protested.

"Still, it gives us an advantage," Charming I said. "And if we send Phillip with him, he will at least have some nobility and genteel manner instilled into him. Phillip is a fine prince, and a fighter to boot. He has defeated Maleficent before, and I'm sure he can do it again."

Charming II nodded. "This is true," he conceded. "It is a good plan. But there's a flaw."

"In my plans? Never!" Charming I looked aghast.

"Oh, but it's quite the flaw."

Charming I crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Charming II. "And what, pray tell, is this flaw?"

Charming II tried not to gloat – but he failed. "The Vanishing Isle, as you surely remember, is still underwater," he said. "And neither of those princes are aqueous. So how do you intend to get them to the Vanishing Isle? We can't wait for it to surface."

Charming I grinned – which disconcerted Charming II greatly. "Two steps ahead of you, old friend," he said. "The answer to that question is very simple: we call the other experts."

Charming II gave him a puzzled look. "The other experts?"

Charming I went to his phone and picked it up. "Operator? If you could connect me to one Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather…"

*

Picture the worst waitress you have ever had. Now picture the worst waitresses your friends have had. Picture the horrible waitresses you've heard about randomly from friends of friends of friends. Picture the bad waitresses in movies and television skits, the exaggerated parody women that always horrify you but make you laugh. Picture them all standing together in a line, side by side.

Multiply all of these terrible waitresses by 83 and then squish them into one body, and you get Emeny Morning.

Emeny was eighteen, and was currently supposed to be working at the Disneyland theme park – but they had hastily shunted her off to the Vanishing Isle to work as a waitress when it was proved she had absolutely no capacity for friendliness. She had proceeded to drop every single dish put into her hand, take down the wrong order for every customer she'd had, have an emotional breakdown at seventy-five different tables, and do disgusting and obvious things to the food of forty-four others.

It had been decided, silently and unanimously, that Emeny would be knocked out and surreptitiously left on the front stoop of some poor, unsuspecting individual the next time that the Vanishing Isle surfaced. Emeny was perfectly aware of this decision, but it didn't trouble her much. People had been dumping her off on others since she was a kid. Driving someone else to insanity was no problem for her.

She had not, however, expected to be asked to serve anyone again. Especially not when the Isle was underwater, and no customers were technically there.

"You – Morning!" yelled the head cook, when he found her in the pantry. "What are you doing in here?"

She hid the bottle of Ex-Lax behind her back and smiled as innocently as she could – a smile that wasn't even remotely guiltless. In fact, it was so wicked that it made little children cry. Her real smile, the smile she used when not trying to play innocent, was terrifying. It wasn't a full-fledged smigreer, but it was getting there. "Just snacking," she said in a sugary voice. "Care for a plate of dates? Cindy put a special sauce on them."

Cindy was a lovely and innocent waitress who swooned a lot and had a beautiful singing voice. Somehow she had fallen under the tyranny of Emeny, and Emeny blamed her and used her as often as she could to further her bad behavior. Nobody ever believed her when she blamed Cindy for her crimes.

"Uh-huh," said the head cook, who had learned long ago that he was never to take anything from Emeny, especially if she said Cindy had done something to it. "Don't have the time. You've got a table of two."

Emeny blinked, taken by surprise. "A table?" she repeated. "We've surfaced?"

"No, but we have customers nonetheless," the cook said, disgruntled. "And you're the only one left here to serve them. So get a move on, girl. These two aren't the patient sorts."

Emeny smiled gleefully. "Oh, goody," she said. "These should be fun."

The cook cast her a worried look. "Emeny, please," he begged, "These people are _evil_. Don't get us killed, alright?"

"We'll see," Emeny said airily, flouncing past him. This, she decided, was going to be fun. Far, far too much fun.

*


	5. Chapter 5: Friends and Emeny

Chapter 5

Friends and Emeny

Maleficent usually despised talking to her fellow villains. None of them were nearly as clever as she was, and none quite as depraved. Their plans were dull, their nemeses annoying and useless, their evil laughter hardly terrifying at all. What was the point in listening to their inane babble about city takeovers and tying lovely maidens to railroad tracks?

She had worried that the conversation tonight would be of the same ilk. But it wasn't. Instead of starting in about any schemes he was currently plotting, Jafar immediately began by talking about her – an immediate signal that he was a good - or, rather, perfectly wicked - man. Any man who recognized her importance – and willingly stroked her ego – was intelligent, and worth keeping around… for a time.

"I've always wanted to ask you," he said, as soon as they were seated, "About your dragon transformation. You always execute it flawlessly, and the form is absolutely terrifying."

"Are you interested in shape-shifting, then?" Maleficent asked, surprised. Not many villains that she knew of shape-shifted, despite the nearly limitless opportunities offered by the talent.

"Oh, very," Jafar told her. "I attempted to shape-shift myself when fighting Aladdin, but your technique is by far superior."

Maleficent preened. "I did spend many years finding the proper spell to cast," she said. "There are so many spells available, but it's difficult to find one that makes a truly grand form. And even then it's difficult to find the proper shape to take. As useful as changing into multiple creatures might be, it's usually best to pick one creature – a spirit creature, as it were – and stick with whatever suits you best."

"Fascinating," Jafar said. "The dragon is your spirit animal, then?"

Maleficent smiled. "Would you have expected anything less?"

"Never." He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. She noticed the curled goatee for the first time. She found it inordinately attractive. "Fascinating animals, dragons. The most superior beings in the world, I would say."

"And what did you transform into?" Maleficent asked, genuinely curious.

"A serpent," he replied, smiling and displaying his surprisingly sharp teeth. She'd not noticed those before either. "A cobra, specifically. A very large one."

"Ooh." She raised an eyebrow. "Serpents are a very close relation of dragons, you know – and more versatile, I daresay. And a cobra is a particularly fine specimen. What made you decide on that form?"

"Not certain," Jafar said, circling a long, thin finger around the rim of his wineglass. "It just came to me in the moment."

"Most likely that's your best form, then," Maleficent said, leaning forward eagerly. It had been a long, long time since she'd shared any of her magical knowledge with someone of nearly equal caliber. She had forgotten how nice it was, having someone who understood. "The strongest spell for maintaining the form is found in an extremely rare book called _Encyclopedia Demonica. _Very useful spells in there, many in their oldest, most archaic forms. You simply must find a copy."

"I'll hunt it down," he acknowledged. "Thank you for the recommendation."

She was about to inquire about how his nemesis, Aladdin, was faring – it was only polite – when their waitress strode up. Almost at once, Maleficent could feel the malice rolling off the girl in waves. Animosity like that could not be maintained in any normal teenager – even if teens were more capable of hatred and angst than any other living beings. This one was beyond the pale. This was pure evil.

This was a future villainess in the making.

"This should be most interesting," Jafar murmured, and she knew he'd sensed it too.

"Here." The malignant waitress threw the menus, Frisbee-style, at the two villains. They both ducked backwards in time to avoid being hit. The menus landed and skidded across to the end of the table, knocking over silverware and glasses. Before any of these could crash, Maleficent lifted a hand and sent them all floating neatly back into place. She turned to cast her coldest look at the waitress. Jafar was doing the same.

"Oops," said the waitress, entirely unapologetic. "Don't know what happened there. They just slipped out of my hand."

"Is that really the best you can do in the way of witty villain talk?" Jafar said. "I'm significantly unimpressed."

The girl frowned. "It's called sarcasm," she snapped. "Apparently it's a foreign language to you."

"Oh, I understand sarcasm perfectly," Jafar assured her. "But there are so many better ways to start a conversation, don't you think?"

The girl huffed. "No," she muttered, removing a small pad from her apron. Maleficent noted that the apron was covered in safety pins, holding together obviously intentional tears in the fabric. The waitress uniform had been mutilated similarly, and was also covered with safety pins. It was a very amateurish costume, but that was to be expected for a girl as young as this one. "So do you want drinks, or what?"

"Your best wine," Jafar said, waving a hand dismissively. "Ask the kitchen staff. They ought to know what it is, even if you don't."

"Wine snobs are morons," said the waitress.

Casually, with only a flick of his fingers, Jafar lit her skirt on fire. Almost as casually, the girl smacked it out with her palm.

"Ouch," she said, sarcasm again lacing her voice. She lifted her palm and displayed it – perfectly unharmed. The girl was experimenting in spell casting, then. "Be back with your bottle… losers."

She turned and skipped through the tables, knocking them out of the way as she did so. Glasses and silverware clattered as she knocked the obstacles from her path. Jafar snapped his wrist, and a table leapt in her way, causing her to flip right over it. She yelped as she went flying, and popped up to give him a dirty glare.

"Not very impressive," Jafar sniffed.

"Not as good as I was hoping, certainly," Maleficent agreed. "But then, she's young. And she has a good deal of potential."

"Her tricks thus far have been juvenile," Jafar protested. "And what exactly about safety pins makes her outfit threatening?"

"It's an elementary attempt," Maleficent said, "But then, didn't we all have terrible costumes at that age?"

Jafar looked thoughtful. "I suppose," he conceded. "I used to wear a rather atrocious red robe with stars and moons and alchemist symbols. I thought I looked quite intelligent."

Maleficent laughed. "I can't quite picture that," she said.

"Nor will you ever need to," Jafar said sourly. "I destroyed every portrait made of me in that garb."

"I would hope so, in something that hideous," Maleficent said, laughing again. She couldn't help herself – the visual of the very dignified Jafar attempting to dress like a street magician – and thinking it _professional_ – was beyond amusing.

"And what did you wear, when you were in your teens?" Jafar inquired, his voice molasses sweet and butter smooth.

Maleficent cringed. "Oh… it was… it was beyond description," she said.

"Oh, no," Jafar said. "I shared with you. I deserve the same in return."

Maleficent wrinkled her nose. Under normal circumstances, she would never reveal such a secret. But… well… this was a date. A very excellent date, in fact. "Well… it involved a good deal of fishnet," she confessed.

"Stockings?"

"And gloves. Long gloves."

Jafar looked mildly puzzled. "Wasn't this in the medieval era?"

"I had a crystal ball that allowed me to see into the future," Maleficent admitted. "I was eager to create something unusual, something the other wicked fairies wouldn't have. So I used the crystal ball and saw… well… fishnet and PVC."

Jafar choked back a laugh. It turned into an undignified snort. "PVC?"

"A PVC corset," she confessed, burying her face in her hands. "And a PVC mermaid-style skirt."

Jafar was chuckling now, a low, throaty chuckle.

"With seven inch platforms," she added, and he lost it.

Embarrassed, irritated, and grudgingly amused, she flicked several green electric sparks at him. "Stop laughing!" she cried. She filed a side note away for future reference: he had a very amusing evil laugh.

"I'm… sorry…" he choked out. "But… but…"

"Ugh, I know, I know." She waved a hand, as though to brush the horrible outfit away. "The other faeries thought me a horrific mess."

Jafar was calming himself. "Apologies," he said finally. "I'm sure it wasn't as bad as it sounds."

"It was," she assured him. "You have strange ideas about fashion when you're young."

"Agreed."

Their waitress reappeared, smiling gleefully. "Oh, dear," Jafar sighed. "I do believe she's filled the wine bottle with mouth wash."

Maleficent arched a brow. "That's a trick for a six-year-old," she said disapprovingly.

"I thought her too juvenile," Jafar said with a nod.

"Incidentally, how can you tell?" Maleficent inquired.

"She clearly did something to it, or she wouldn't be smiling," Jafar said. "Also there's an empty bottle of mouthwash sticking out of her apron pocket."

"So not subtle, either," Maleficent sighed. "She needs a great deal of work."

"Likely won't be worth it," Jafar said.

Maleficent arched both eyebrows. "Oh, you never know."

The waitress approached and slapped down the bottle with a triumphant flourish. "Our very best," she said, with an elaborate, mocking bow. "Enjoy."

Maleficent took her wineglass and handed it to the waitress. "Why don't you try a sip and tell us what you think?" she asked sweetly.

The waitress's smile slipped. "No thanks," she said. "I'm not legal yet."

"Oh, a brave girl like you doesn't mind that," Maleficent said. "A brave, devil-may-care young woman would drink that right down."

The waitress shifted. "The boss wouldn't approve."

"I think he is otherwise occupied at the moment," Jafar put in. "Just a small sip. We'd love to hear your thoughts."

The girl looked between the two of them, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I don't want any," she said defiantly.

Jafar and Maleficent exchanged a glance. Maleficent turned to her with a motherly air – quite an accomplishment, for her. "What's your name, waitress?" she asked.

"Um…" The girl looked distrustful. "Are you going to report me? I haven't really done anything that wrong yet."

"No, I'd just like to know your name."

The girl chewed her lip for a minute, squinting hard at Maleficent. "It's Emeny," she said finally. "Emeny Morning."

"Good name," Jafar said appreciatively.

"Very," Maleficent agreed. "Emeny, dear, grab a chair and sit."

Emeny blinked at them. "Seriously?"

Maleficent smiled. "Seriously." The word felt foreign and inelegant on her tongue, but she ignored it. It was important to speak the language of the youth when trying to relate with them.

Slowly, uncertainly, Emeny grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it to the end of theirs. She lowered herself into it, eyeing them warily.

"Listen," Maleficent said, laying her hand near Emeny. "You have a good deal of potential to be truly wicked. I can see that you want to. But tricks like this – " She lifted the bottle with magic, popped the cork, and sent the mouthwash pouring onto the floor by Emeny's shoes. "— Are tricks for younger, lesser beings," she concluded. "Really, dear, with all that ill intent, you'd be better suited to something grander. How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Emeny said proudly.

Eighteen, Maleficent thought. Why did all eighteen-year-olds announce their age with such pride? Did they think their mere eighteen years of life impressed their elders? Maleficent remembered being eighteen. She had been more intelligent than this particular young woman, but she still had been fairly stupid.

"Oh, dear," Maleficent sighed. "I thought you were younger." Emeny bristled, but Maleficent ignored her. "By eighteen you should be attempting to overthrow the government of your home country, not putting mouthwash into customers' wine bottles," she continued.

Emeny opened her mouth to protest, but Jafar jumped in. "Consider Syndrome," he told her. "You've heard of him, yes?"

"Who hasn't?" Emeny said.

"By the time he turned eleven, he was already concocting his plan to bring down Mr. Incredible and make himself into a super villain," Jafar said. "He was a mechanical genius as a child anyway. If he'd started down the path of evil earlier, he would have been one of our most advanced villains."

"And if he could be serious for more than three seconds," Maleficent added irritably.

"Granted," Jafar said, rolling his eyes.

Emeny shrugged sullenly. "Ok, so one kid did some awesome planning," she said. "Woop-dee-doo. Everybody else started later in life, right?"

"Hardly," Maleficent said. "Jafar managed to single-handedly remove the previous vizier from his throne by poisoning him and all of his supporters when he was but twelve. And I had already transformed seven of my competitors for Queen Mother of Evil into rocks when I was seven – the start of my rather impressive rock collection."

"Really?" Jafar said in awe. "The rumors say four."

"Four?" Maleficent cried. "I'm insulted!"

"It was Ursula who told me four," Jafar said hurriedly. "I thought the number seemed remarkably low for someone of your talent and caliber."

Maleficent beamed. "Did you learn how to flatter as a vizier, or have you always been this well-spoken?"

"Ok, seriously, cut out the lovey chit-chat," Emeny snapped. "It's kinda gross and weird."

They shot her dirty looks, but did not continue their tangent. "The point being, Emeny," Maleficent said, "that if you truly want to pursue this nasty nature in which you seem to have such a vested interest, you have to start thinking on a grander scale."

Emeny shifted uncomfortably. "But I like the small stuff," she said. "It's funny."

"And also the sort of thing that only sidekicks do," Jafar said disdainfully. "You don't want to be a sidekick, do you? Think of Lefou. Do you want to be like Lefou?"

"Well… no," Emeny said, wincing. "But it wasn't like I was planning on going into a career as a villain. I mean, can you major in that?"

Jafar and Maleficent laughed. "Most of us are born wicked," Jafar said, "And don't have to educate ourselves in official schools. We learn by trial and error. But some of the younger villains have developed an apprenticeship program. You can follow a well-respected villain for two years and receive a certificate that acknowledges that you are truly ready to terrorize the world."

"Stupid, really," Maleficent said, tapping her wineglass with a long, pointed fingernail. It filled with wine at once. "It seems to me that most of those apprenticeships end in the murder of the master."

"Not with the really clever villains," Jafar pointed out. "We almost had Mirage, but she turned into a heroine on us at the last second."

"I wouldn't classify Syndrome as a clever villain, but your point is valid," Maleficent conceded.

"But, look," Emeny interrupted. "What's _wrong _with the little tricks? I mean, I'm still doing bad shit, right?"

"Don't curse like that – it's undignified," Maleficent said primly. She saw nothing hypocritical in this. Her earlier swearing had only been the result of a highly stressful situation. "And the little tricks are worthy only of lesser beings, as we said. If you are content with being a lesser malignant force, so be it. But if you want to end up in the 'big leagues,' as it were – feared by every government, with a nemesis and – "

"Oh, but I have a nemesis!" Emeny exclaimed, bouncing in her chair. "She's this other waitress, Cindy – blonde, swooning, nice singing voice…"

"Ugh," Jafar and Maleficent said simultaneously. "Heroine."

Emeny frowned. "You mean like the drug, or…?"

"No, idiot," Jafar snapped. "A heroine, the leading female protagonist in every story. Particularly one falling into the princess category."

Emeny laughed. "Cindy's not a princess," she said.

"Oh, you just wait," Jafar said darkly. "Some mysterious grandmother will appear from somewhere and announce dramatically that her darling little Cynthesia has been hidden away for years to protect her from assassins but that it is now time for her to reclaim her throne, or something to that effect."

"Cynthesia?" Emeny repeated incredulously.

"Oh, it's never just Cindy," Maleficent assured her.

"So, like, Cynthia wouldn't cover it?" Emeny said.

"Not likely," Jafar said. "Too common."

"But Cynthesia sounds like some kind of drug-induced illness or something," Emeny said. "Some horrible mental condition."

"Being a princess _is_ a horrible mental condition," said Jafar and Maleficent, at exactly the same time. They looked across the table at each other and grinned.

Emeny sighed. "Ok, ok, so I've got the nemesis and all that," she said.

"You've got a princess," Jafar corrected. "You need a prince as your nemesis."

"A princess can't be my nemesis?" Emeny asked, surprised. "Isn't that really sexist and lame?"

"The world's been sexist for the vast majority of its history," Maleficent said bitterly. "We fight it as best we can. But it has happened that princesses have served as proper nemeses for villains."

"Very rarely," Jafar protested. "Name me one princess who served as a nemesis."

"Mulan," Maleficent said instantly.

"Blast," Jafar sighed. "You're right, as usual. But does Mulan really qualify as a princess, considering her mentality and her low-born status?"

"Aladdin qualifies as a prince, doesn't he?" Maleficent remarked.

"Because he married a princess," Jafar replied. "And the genie made him into a prince. Prince Abooboo," he sneered.

"Even so," Maleficent said, "Mulan qualifies as a princess. And Shang is her prince."

"So what I need to do," Emeny interrupted, "Is find a prince for Cindy?"

"No!" Jafar and Maleficent exclaimed.

"At all costs, you must separate Cindy from her prince," Jafar said. "Together they will be able to defeat you. There's some ridiculous law about that. Something about the power of true love overcoming all, or something of that nature."

"Ugh," said Maleficent. "But yes, that's entirely accurate. If a prince appears, you must try to kill him at once. Chances are you won't succeed – you won't believe how resilient the little insects are – but you must keep trying. One day you will succeed, and you will reign triumphant with no prince to finish you."

"Ok," Emeny said uncertainly. "So then, like, what's my first step?"

"You've got to do something truly wicked," Maleficent said. "Curse a princess, plan a government coup – "

"Poison the turtle?" Emeny suggested.

Jafar and Maleficent stared at her.

"Cuz I just did that," she continued brightly. "Poisoned the turtle, I mean. And sabotaged the air bubble. It should be collapsing in about… oh… fifteen minutes."

"Yes," Jafar said, his tone grudgingly admiring. "Yes, that might just do it."

It was at that moment that the doors flew open, and three familiar men burst into the diner.

"Not so fast, Jafar!" proclaimed Aladdin, pointing a curved scimitar at his nemesis.

"Stay there, witch!" shouted Prince Phillip, pointing his sword at Maleficent.

"And you, Emeny, get out of the way!" shouted the maitre d'.

Jafar and Maleficent looked at each other and sighed.

"And this night was going so well," Jafar said regretfully. "Ah, well. Shall we?"

Maleficent's eyes glittered as she rose from her seat. "We shall."

"We shall what?" Emeny demanded, but Maleficent and Jafar were already moving away.


	6. Chapter 6: Under the Sea Turtle

CHAPTER 6

Under the Sea Turtle

The princes, plus the maitre d', stood in a very straight line, light surrounding them in bright halos. The princes had swords drawn; the maitre d' was holding a kitchen knife.

Directly opposite them, Jafar, Maleficent, and Emeny also stood in a line, surrounded by shadows rather than light. Jafar and Maleficent were armed with staffs, but Emeny had nothing except her waitress tray. She held it with a surprising amount of menace, baring her teeth at the maitre d'.

"Phillip and Aladdin will be the problem," Jafar murmured to Maleficent, keeping his eyes on Aladdin's scimitar.

"Never underestimate a new prince," Maleficent replied. "It's the new ones that cause the problem."

"You'd call that a prince?" Jafar scoffed, glancing at the maitre d' and his rather blunt-looking kitchen knife.

"If he's fighting with the princes and facing down Emeny, he probably is a prince," Maleficent said. "A bad one, admittedly, but a prince nonetheless. An amateur at the game – but the amateurs are the dangerous ones. They have yet to understand the rules of engagement and tend to deviate from the predictable…"

"Fair point." Jafar looked around for a lock, some indicator of the time, but found nothing. But he knew, from Emeny's declaration, that their time was limited. He turned to the waitress, and his cobra staff's eyes began to glow, hypnotic and deadly. "Emeny," Jafar barked. "If you thought to poison the turtle and collapse the air bubble, you must have had an escape plan."

"Mmmm… maybe," Emeny said, flicking dark hair over her shoulder.

Jafar lifted his staff and pointed it in her direction. She glanced at it, barely long enough to connect – but it was enough. She became immediately entranced. "You will tell me what that escape plan is," Jafar ordered.

Maleficent watched appreciatively as Emeny, dazed, muttered, "Small submarine, docking bay, back of the turtle. Like."

"Good. How many minutes until this air bubble collapses?"

"Thirteen," Emeny said, blinking slowly. "Whoa. There are, like, pretty lights everywhere."

Jafar pulled his staff away, breaking the spell. Emeny blinked and shook her head rapidly. "Thank you very much, Emeny," he said.

"Uh, for what?" Emeny asked suspiciously.

"For your _wonderful _service," Jafar replied. He glanced at Maleficent. "Shall we begin the preliminaries?"

"If we must," Maleficent sighed, "But do it quickly. We haven't much time."

Jafar nodded shortly and turned back to Aladdin, a wide grin creeping across his face. "Come without your entourage, Prince Abooboo?" he jeered. "I'd hardly believe you capable of accomplishing anything without them."

Across the room, Aladdin gritted his teeth. "I'm capable of kicking your – !"

"Aladdin," Phillip said, putting out a cautionary hand. "The kiddies are watching."

Aladdin heaved a sigh. "I know how to defeat you, Jafar," he said, deflated. "I've done it before, and I'll do it again."

"Oh, that I doubt, Abooboo," Jafar said. "That I doubt." He cast a quick look at Maleficent. "Your turn," he murmured.

"How much time until the bubble collapses?" she asked Emeny.

"Uh, like, twelve minutes?" Emeny said, glancing at her watch. "Are we gonna fight, or what?"

"Eventually, eventually," Maleficent promised. "But first banter must be exchanged. It is a necessity in any great battle."

"Ok, but, like, the air bubble's gonna collapse?" Emeny said. "And, like, you know, death and destruction ensuing…"

"Yes, yes," Maleficent said impatiently. "I understand." She turned to Prince Phillip, grinning wickedly. "Prince Phillip," she said, nodding. "Didn't I see you just a few hours ago?"

"You'll be seeing me over and over again until I have your head on a platter, fiend!" Phillip retorted.

"Or until I have yours," Maleficent smirked.

"Since you have yet to actually defeat me, I don't think that will happen," Phillip replied.

Maleficent's eyes narrowed. "Casting doubt on my skills, prince?" she hissed. "I could certainly question yours, since it takes a set of three doddering old maids with pixie wings to make you invincible! I certainly wonder about the legitimacy of your fighting prowess, as it was won through a mystical 'sword cannot ever miss' and a 'shield that blocks anything, even acid rain'! Does it really qualify you as a hero if it takes no skill on your part to win a battle?"

"Be silent, witch!" Phillip roared. "I am a great prince, arguably one of Disney's best! Do not cast aspersions on my honor!"

Maleficent smiled, satisfied. "Well, that certainly riled him," she said.

"Your banter skills are exceptional, Your Wickedness," Jafar said warmly.

"Yours too, though I'd rather hoped for a song," Maleficent said, arching an eyebrow. "Your singing style has always put me to shame."

"Next time," Jafar promised, winking. "Just for you."

"Ugh, God, gross," Emeny grumbled.

They turned to glare at her. "Well?" Jafar snapped.

Emeny twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Well what?" she asked.

"It's your turn to banter," Maleficent said. "Some clever line, some words to cow your nemesis?"

Emeny made a face – presumably her thoughtful face – staring at the maitre d', who was waiting tensely for her to speak.

"Well?" he called, shaking his kitchen knife at her. "Have you got anything to say to me, Morning?"

She popped the ends of her hair into her mouth and began to chew on it. Then she grinned. No – she _smigreered_. "Just this," she said, and threw her waitress tray boomerang-style at the maitre d's head.

Phillip sprang towards the maitre d', knocking him aside as the tray went whooshing right over him. Aladdin gave a war cry and started charging for Jafar.

"So much for banter," Jafar growled, and lifted his staff. "Ready?"

"I was born ready," Maleficent replied, also lifting her staff.

"Who even says that?" Emeny cried, catching her tray one-handed.

"We do," Maleficent and Jafar replied, and then simultaneously began to morph.

"Oh, hell," Aladdin cursed, skidding to a stop.

"Not the dragon!" Phillip groaned. "I haven't got my shield!"

"Dragon?" the maitre d' repeated in horror. "What dragon?"

Aladdin and Phillip pointed. "That one," they said.

Maleficent had grown and changed into her full dragon form, sleek black and bright purple. Her green eyes flared; her mouth burned yellow as she opened it to roar.

Beside her, a large cobra uncoiled towards the ceiling, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. His smooth skin shone black and red, a yellow underbelly exposed. His hood flared as he hissed, swaying back and forth, a wicked pendulum.

Next to them sat a small, discolored bobcat, hissing and spitting and leaping about as though a bee had flown into its ear.

"You can ssssshape sssssshift?" Jafar hissed to the bobcat.

Maleficent snorted dark plumes of smoke by way of agreement.

"Sure can!" Emeny said, still leaping about. "It's great, isn't it? I love bobcats, 'cause they have claws and spots and are bigger than regular cats but, like, can still do damage to you and stuff."

"A bobcat." Jafar shook his regal cobra head, flicking his tongue in disapproval. "Honessssstly, child. You are the worsssst villain I've ever ssssseen."

"Not so!" Maleficent said. "I once heard of a villain who grew into a giant ant. Useless, he was."

"Usssselesssss indeed," Jafar agreed. "How wassss he defeated?"

"A giant stepped on him."

"But of coursssse."

Emeny leapt straight up in the air and did a flip. "Dude, that hissing? It's annoying," she yowled. "And, bee tee dubya, they're, like, charging?"

"_What?_" Jafar and Maleficent turned their heads simultaneously, catching sight of the charging princes – and maitre d' – just in time. Maleficent leapt into the air and over their heads; Jafar slithered out of the way. Emeny yelped and leapt at the maitre d's face. He stopped, squealed, and ran in the opposite direction.

"Don't!" he shouted. "Don't jump on me! I'm allergic to cats!"

Aladdin and Phillip skidded to a halt. "Oh, really now," Aladdin groaned. "This is our new prince in training?"

"Well, his family is royal," Phillip said doubtfully. "They asked us to retrieve him and teach him how to be a proper prince… maybe this is why…"

"No! No! Cat hair! No!" shouted the maitre d' prince.

Aladdin groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Abelard, stop that!" he shouted.

Jafar, who was prepping to strike, froze. Then he laughed, a great, loud, villainous cackle. "Abelard?" he repeated. "Prince Abelard?"

Prince Abelard stopped and looked around him, confused. "Yes?" he asked.

Emeny pounced on his back and dug her claws in, rubbing her head on his neck. "No! Ah! Cat hair!" he shouted, and began spasmodically trying to throw her off.

Aladdin shook his head. "What is the world coming to?" he asked.

"Tell me about it," Jafar said, flicking his tongue in disapproval. "That Emeny issss a shame to villainy."

"Oh, agreed," Aladdin said. "I mean, really – a bobcat? Why not something more threatening, like – "

"A cobra?" Jafar offered.

"Yeah, exactly!" Aladdin exclaimed. "I mean, that's a _great_ form to take on. I mean, _I_ was really impressed by it. For a bit there I really thought I was going to lose."

Jafar would have smirked, if it were possible for a cobra to smirk. "Oh, I did too," he said. "But you ssssuccesssssfully out-maneuvered me, like any good prince mussst. Never mind what the other princessss ssssay about you being low-born – you've done quite an excellent job, as far as princessss go."

Aladdin frowned. "They what?" he said.

"Oh, dear." Jafar pretended to cough awkwardly. "I didn't mean to ssssay – oh, my. What a misssstake."

"They really say that?" Aladdin questioned.

"I'm afraid ssssso," Jafar said. "Quite often, in fact."

Aladdin looked crushed. "Because I'm – ?"

"A sssstreet rat. Yessss."

Aladdin stiffened. "I'm not a street rat!" he snapped. "And anyway, Jasmine loves me."

"Oh, I don't know," Jafar said thoughtfully. "She sssseemed rather fond of me for a time…"

"So she could distract you!" Aladdin retorted.

"So she told _you_," Jafar replied.

"You – you – you leave her alone!" Aladdin snapped, waving his scimitar at Jafar.

"Yes," Maleficent put in irritably. "_Do_ leave her alone, Jafar. I mean, honestly, a villain with a princess is just shameful."

Jafar shimmied a little, nervous now. "I'm not interessssted in her," he said. "I was jusssst ssssaying that perhapssss in the passsst – "

"Lies!" Aladdin yelled. "All lies!" He waved his scimitar more forcefully.

"Ooh, a ssssword," Jafar sneered. "What terrorssss. How I tremble."

Aladdin chose this moment to stab Jafar in the tail. In response, Jafar howled and snapped at Aladdin. And the fight was on again.

Maleficent blew fire every which-way, trying to catch the dodging Prince Phillip. He took whatever he could get his hands on and threw it at her, but continuously missed. He wasn't much for aim without his sword that couldn't miss.

Meanwhile, Aladdin stabbed randomly at Jafar and tried to stay out of the way of the cobra's enormous fangs. Jafar flailed about wildly, trying to catch Aladdin. He hit him once, directly in the stomach. Aladdin flew across the room and hit the wall, dazed. At approximately the same time, Maleficent set fire to the curtain Phillip had leapt behind only moments before. Phillip came out with a flaming cape and, like any well-taught schoolboy, stopped, dropped, and rolled. Abelard was still attempting to throw Emeny off of him and succeeding only in getting hair all over himself.

This was of course the moment when the entire wait staff, led by Cindy, came bursting into the dining room.

"The air bubble's collapsing!" Cindy wailed. "What are we to – " She stopped mid-cry and gaped, open-mouthed, at the now frozen villains and princes, all staring directly back at her.

She looked between Jafar, still in snake form, and Aladdin, who was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

She looked between Maleficent, still in her dragon form, and Phillip, who was cursing and trying to beat out his burning cape.

She looked between Abelard, who was gawking open-mouthed at her, and Emeny, who had changed into a human and was clinging, piggyback style, to Abelard.

"What's happening?" Cindy asked, voice shaking.

"The end of the world, girl," Maleficent said, grinning and displaying her very sharp teeth.

"For you, at leasssssst," Jafar added.

He and Maleficent changed simultaneously into their human forms, smoke swirling around them. For an instant, Phillip and Aladdin stood unmoving, unprepared for the abrupt transformation.

"So long, Abooboo!" Jafar cackled, and, taking Maleficent's arm, they disappeared.

"Wait!" Aladdin howled, diving towards them – but too late. All he encountered was empty air.

"No, stop!" Phillip ordered, but when he leapt in their direction, he only smacked into Aladdin.

"Hey!" Emeny shrieked, also diving towards the spot on which the villains had stood. She only succeeded in knocking both princes to the ground. Irritated, they pushed her off, rubbing their heads.

"Where did they go?" Phillip demanded, grabbing for Emeny.

Emeny stuck her tongue out. "Why should I tell you?" she asked.

Both Aladdin and Phillip drew swords. From across the room, Abelard wildly flailed his kitchen knife.

Emeny sulked. "Probably to the escape subs," she muttered, blowing uselessly at a loose strand of hair. "That's where I was gonna go. I don't know how they found out…"

"You told them," Aladdin said.

Emeny rolled her eyes. "Um, no, I didn't."

"Um, yeah, you did," Aladdin snapped. "Jafar's cobra staff is magical. It hypnotized you, and you told him about your plan."

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped at the idea of this betrayal. "That bastard!" she exclaimed.

From the doorway, Cindy gasped. "Bad language!" she cried. "Don't say that word!"

Abelard stepped forward, waving his knife. "Do you want me to teach her a lesson, Cindy?" he said, trying to look menacing. The loosely flapping apron and fast-spreading rashes did not do much to enhance the attempt.

"Oh, no!" Cindy said. "No, not violently. Maybe if you just sat her down and explained to her why cursing is bad…"

"Too late," Emeny crowed, pointing outside. "The air bubble's already collapsing! Soon the whole of the Vanishing Isle will be full of water, and you'll all drown! And even if that doesn't kill you, the death throes of the turtle certainly will!"

"Death throes?" Cindy wept. "What have you done to our precious turtle?"

"Poisoned it," Emeny said, _smigreering_ until it seemed her face would split open. "To death."

"Well, that's to be expected when you poison some – the air bubble!" Phillip shouted.

He was right to shout; the air bubble was collapsing, and water was beginning to spill over."

"Aaaaaaahhh!" screamed Cindy and the wait staff.

"Aaaaaaaaahhh!" screamed Abelard.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhh!" screamed Phillip.

"Calm down," said Aladdin. "We're going to be fine.

"How can you say that?" Abelard blubbered. "A great wall of water is coming towards us! Oh, how I wish there was someone here to save us!"

From the air above their heads came the sounds of three bubbles popping. The crowd below looked up, astonished. Floating above their heads were Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather.

Fauna waved her wand and winked. "Did somebody ask to be rescued?"

Cindy blinked. "But I thought it was the princes who were supposed to rescue us," she said.

"Haven't you heard?" Merryweather said. "There's been a feminist revolution. The damsels do the rescuing now."

"Well… not all the time," Phillip protested.

"Yeah," Aladdin said, frowning. "We princes here were fighting off the villains before you arr—"

A wave came crashing into the dining room, burying all of them under several hundred feet of water. Burbling frantically, the princes and wait staff began flailing wildly, trying to get out – but it seemed there was no escape. The air bubble around the turtle had collapsed entirely, and the sturdy halls of the Vanishing Isle were full to the top with ocean water. Beneath them, the turtle bellowed in pain and began to spasm as the poison spread through its system, shaking the tall buildings back and forth. Cracks began to form in the walls, more water bubbling through.

The heroes were red in the face from trying to hold their breath. Their cheeks puffed out like puffer fish, without the pointed spikes. Their eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of their heads.

It was then that Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather waved their wands, and magical air bubbles appeared around each hero's head. Gasping, they drew deep gulps of air into their lungs, panting. When they had recovered, Phillip and Aladdin looked around for the fairies. They were floating a few feet away, observing with cheerful smirks.

Merryweather leaned in with a bright smile. "Go on," she said. "I believe you were saying something funny."

Aladdin sighed. "Let's just get back to the Charmings," he said. "They need to hear about this as soon as possible."

"Very well," Flora sniffed. "Away we go!"

The heroes were catapulted at once to the surface and sent flying on their way.

*


	7. Chapter 7: Steak N Shake

**A/N: Yikes! Sorry this is so belated, guys! College ate my soul, and I had a bit of crisis with this chapter and wasn't sure whether or not to leave it in. I reread it and decided I liked it, so here it is. One more chapter to go, and then we're done! Happy reading!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

**Steak N Shake**

Far below the ocean, Jafar and Maleficent were laughing victoriously.

"Did you see Phillip's face when I lit him on fire?" Maleficent laughed as she steered the escape sub towards the surface.

"Priceless," Jafar cackled. "And the street rat, did you see it when I knocked him aside?"

"Nothing short of brilliant," Maleficent agreed.

Jafar settled back in the seat, grinning. "A wicked end to a wicked night," he said.

Maleficent stopped laughing. "Is it the end already?" she asked, surprised at her own disappointment. "We didn't eat."

"This is true." Jafar stroked his beard, curling it around his fingers contemplatively. "As long as we're here, we might as well visit the _Electric Eel,_" he said.

"The what?"

Jafar raised his eyebrows. "It's an underwater bar," he said. "A favorite haunt of Ursula and other villains here."

"Oh." Maleficent couldn't keep the disdain from her voice.

Jafar laughed. "I take it you don't much like Ursula."

"I suppose she's better than her other Atlantican counterparts," Maleficent sniffed. "And certainly her plotting is nothing short of brilliant. But she is vulgar and coarse."

"Just so." Jafar smoothed his goatee back into place; his twisting had made it frizz into a mass of wild curls. "There are numerous other places to visit on the surface, of course – near your castle there's the Dragon's Tail theme restaurant, or Pain and Panic's Fine Greek Cuisine, or perhaps, if you're feeling adventurous, the Cave of Wonders Diner."

Maleficent tapped her fingers on the wheel. "None of those places offer much opportunity for terrorizing," she said. "Perhaps if we visited somewhere without villains… somewhere like…"

Jafar sat upright in his seat. "What about a Drive-Thru?" he said. "Those normal people go through them all the time. Imagine what we could with them if – "

"Yes!" Maleficent squealed, then covered her mouth, embarrassed. "I mean," she said, her voice returning to a normal pitch, "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"Of course." Maleficent might have been imagining it, but she thought she caught the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice.

She cast him a sideways glare. "Do you have the power to turn this into a normal car?" she snapped.

"A normal car?" Jafar said. "My dear, I hardly think a villainess of your stature ought to drive a _normal _car. But trust me, I have more than enough power to do it. Would you like me to take us on land, or – "

Maleficent snapped her fingers, and the sub was suddenly on land, in the middle of a very busy intersection with the light about to turn green.

She felt a gleeful sense of wickedness when Jafar blanched.

Hurriedly he waved his staff, and suddenly they were comfortably seated inside an incredibly long stretch limo – so long, in fact, that inside there was a hot tub, a pool table, and a foosball table inside.

Maleficent stared. "I think you may have taken this a tad far," she said.

"Might as well make an impression, don't you think?" He grinned at her.

Maleficent leaned towards the windows. "What does it look like on the outside?"

"Red, with black dragons spewing orange flame down the sides," Jafar said smugly. "I thought it fitting, all things considered."

"And who's driving?" Maleficent asked, as the light changed.

"I made us a chauffeur," Jafar explained. "He'll be able to drive us."

The car lurched and jolted forward, screaming out of the intersection and hurtling at top speed down the road. It was Maleficent's turn to blanch; she grabbed for anything solid to cling to as the car sped off, her skin turning very pale green. "Are you certain of that?" she cried as the driver spun to the right.

"Quite certain." She glared at him; he seemed completely unruffled, leaning with the turns as though they were of no concern to him.

"Slow him down!" Maleficent commanded. "Slow him down at once!"

Jafar raised an eyebrow. "Frightened, my dear?"

She bared her teeth at him. "Never," she hissed.

"Then what's the problem?" Jafar asked. "Surely you find this exhilarating – "

She grabbed her staff and blasted him.

Jafar, still smoking and now pressed against the opposite side of the limo, coughed up a circle of smoke. "Slow down," he wheezed.

The car slowed to a reasonable pace and continued on its path. Maleficent surveyed Jafar's crisped robes and skeletal feather with considerable satisfaction. "Next time you feel like pulling a trick like that," she said, "Remember this." She waved her staff, and his clothes were whole again.

He straightened, toyed with his feather a bit, and coughed. "So… Steak N' Shake?" he offered weakly.

"Never been," Maleficent said, studying her nails. "Is it good?"

"I don't know," Jafar admitted. "I've never been either."

"Hmm." Maleficent shrugged. "I suppose it's worth a try."

Jafar snapped his fingers. "Driver!" he ordered. "Take us to the nearest Steak N' Shake."

"Yes, sir," said the driver in a monotone, and made an impossible U-turn in the middle of the road.

Maleficent, who had not been hanging onto anything, flew across the back seat and landed on Jafar with a surprised exclamation. She stayed there a moment, stunned. When she finally managed to look up, Jafar was looking down at her, biting back a grin.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she said, a little breathless.

"How are you faring?" he asked, no longer trying to hide his smile. "Give you a bit of a turn?"

She pointed the staff in his face. "Don't test me, Jafar," she said, and pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

She did not, however, move all the way across the seat. Because really, it was rather nice, sitting this close to a man who liked her.

But if he tried that "yawn-stretch-that-leads-to-his-arm-'accidentally-around-her-shoulder" trick, she was blasting his hand off.

*

It was a fairly normal night at the Steak N' Shake drive-thru. There had been the usual teen pranksters earlier that night, after the basketball game. There had been the masses of people pouring in after their late-night movies. Now it was finally beginning to get quiet, and it was nearly time for the drive-thru to shut down.

Grad student Liz Sellers was very ready to go. She'd been there nearly eight hours already, and she had had enough of the bitchy teenyboppers and the annoyed soccer moms with their broods in the back of their minivans and the college students who sneered at her fast food clothes as though they made her something less than they were. Sometimes Liz hated her generation.

Anyway, she had loads of homework to do when she got back to her apartment – no chance for sleep tonight – and she was expecting a call from her boyfriend. It had been a long time since she'd heard from him. He was in the army, so she guessed he was just busy.

She hoped he was just busy.

There was a small ding – someone was at the drive-thru. Liz heaved a sigh. "Seriously?" she growled. "Seriously?" She turned on her headset and forced a smile. "Steak N' Shake, would you like to try one of our combos today?"

There was a lot of crackling static on the other end, some mumbling, and then a horrifically monotone voice. "Yes we demand a large choc-o-late shake please," said the voice. "And one mango shake."

"Uh…" Liz glanced at the list of their latest promotions. "Sir, I don't see a mango shake listed here. I don't think we have one of those."

There was some more mumbling and static, and then the monotone voice returned. "No," it said. "You have mango shakes. Look again."

Liz glanced at the list again, irritated. "Sir, there is no – oh." She stopped and blinked at an entry somewhere towards the middle that she had missed. "Oh, sorry," she said, chagrined. "It's late, I must be getting a little fuzzy-headed."

"Or stupid," said the monotone voice.

Liz nearly dropped the paper. "Excuse me?"

There was a pause. Then the monotone voice said, "Or sleepy."

"Oookay." Liz typed in the milkshake orders. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Frog legs," said the monotone voice.

"Frog legs?" Liz heard someone else – a woman – exclaim. "Really?"

"Frog legs are delicious!" a man said. "You simply must try them."

"How did you find such things in Arabia?" asked woman.

"Well, I traveled a great deal in my youth, you see, and – "

"Um, excuse me," Liz interrupted, "But we don't have any frog legs."

"Yes you do," the man snapped. "Check again."

"No!" Liz exclaimed. "I'm telling you, we don't have frog legs!"

"And _I'm _telling you that you do!" the man. "The customer is always right, you know."

"Oh no they aren't!" Liz growled. "Listen, I don't know where you think you are, but – "

She heard a sigh. "Do you want to deal with her, or should I?" asked the man.

"Can't we both deal with her?" asked the second person.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

And then there was whispering. It was ominous whispering. It was whispering that made Liz's hair stand on end. "Guys, seriously, if you don't get the hell out of here I'm calling the cops," she snapped.

"Ooh," drawled the male voice. "I cower."

"Behave, Jafar," said the female.

"Look, sarcasm isn't helping your – " She paused. "Did you just say Jafar?"

As if on cue, the things around Liz began walking. The paper bags that held carryout food walked. The cups walked. The napkins even walked. Rather, they hopped, because they had grown frog legs.

"Catch some of those," said the man's voice, "Cut off their legs, and make us some frog legs."

"Ugh," Liz said, staring at them in horror. "Is that entirely sanitary?"

"You're frying them in impossible amounts of heat," snapped the woman. "I think you'll have killed off any germs."

"Uh…" Liz stared at the hopping objects. "I… I really don't…"

"Liz," said the man on the other end, exasperated.

Liz started. "How do you know my name?" she gasped.

"You're surprised," said the man, "And yet you've seen me add frog legs to the objects around you."

"Fair point," Liz grumbled.

"And considering that I can do these things… don't you imagine I can do infinitely more horrifying things to you?" reasoned the man. "Say, turn the tables in the restaurant into ravenous tigers?"

Liz heard snarling. She glanced reluctantly over her shoulder. Out in the dining area, patrons began to scream, charging towards the doors. Cutlery clattered to the floor; tables smashed. Liz's fellow workers began to scream and leap behind the counter, ducking where they thought they would not be found, grabbing for knives and frying pans and any other weapons they could get their hands on. "Oh, God," she groaned. There were tigers everywhere – tigers with impossibly huge fangs. They stalked around the room, licking their lips and preparing to pounce on the slower patrons who were hanging behind.

"Ok, ok!" Liz exclaimed, grabbing for a knife. "Frog legs, coming right up!" She grabbed at a nearby napkin holder and began chopping as it flailed in her hands. She cringed as the first leg came off; but fortunately there was no blood squirt. She cut again, and grabbed another item. "How many of these do you want?"

"As many as you can reasonably make with a group of tigers preparing to tear you limb from limb," said the man. He sounded very pleased with himself. "Don't rush or anything."

"Oh, yeah," Liz muttered. "Don't rush. It's totally going to be ok. You're just going to have to watch your back for, like, twenty – "

"TIGER!" bellowed the fry cook, turning and running towards the back door.

Liz looked over her shoulder in horror. A tiger was crawling up over the counter, sniffing the air. It turned and looked directly at her. It stared for several long moments. She stared back, still clutching at the frog legs. Then it bared its teeth, glittering fangs shining as brightly as the clean knives hanging around the kitchen, and Liz knew she was in serious trouble.

"Ok!" she squeaked. "Ok, I'm going!" She ran to the fry counter and tried to find the deep-fry basket. "Ok, ok, it's going to be fine, just – " She glared at her microphone. "I need batter," she snapped.

"So find some," replied the man.

"Uh, our stuff usually comes, you know, pre-battered?" Liz snapped. The tiger had leapt over the counter and was now sniffing disdainfully at a few of her coworkers, who stood frozen in terror. "So, like, we don't keep batter around."

"Well, isn't that a pity," the man sighed. "You may be left to perish under tooth and claw."

The tiger snapped its head towards her and grinned.

"Ok, ok!" Liz cried. "Please, please, _please_ give me some batter!"

"Oh, isn't she polite," cooed the woman. Liz wanted to throw her headset across the room, but refrained. "I always did hate those polite types, didn't you?"

"GOD DAMMIT, GIVE ME SOME BATTER RIGHT NOW IF YOU EVER WANT YOUR FROG LEGS!" Liz screamed, as the tiger crouched down and licked its chops.

"She has an attitude," the man observed. "I don't know if we ought – "

"Oh, give her the batter," said the woman. "I'm starved, and this entertainment wears thin."

"As you wish," said the man, and suddenly a bowl of batter appeared next to Liz.

"About damn time," she growled, grabbing the batter and throwing in the frog legs. She snatched them out a moment later and threw them into the fry basket, dipping it into the pool of burning hot oil. "C'mon, c'mon, cook!" she said, watching as the batter congealed. "Faster… faster…"

The tiger sprang, roaring as it leapt towards her. She screamed, grabbed for a second fry basket, and hurled hot oil at the tiger. The oil hit the tiger's face mid-leap, and the tiger dropped to the floor, snarling and hissing in pain. As soon as it hit the ground, it turned back into a table, cracked now and covered in burn marks.

"Bravo," said the woman. She actually sounded impressed. "Clever weapon."

"It was near at hand," Liz grunted. She pulled out the frog legs; they were basically done. She snatched a to-go box and threw the frog legs in, heedless of the oil they dripped. She ran to the drive-thru window. "Got your legs," she panted.

"And the shakes?"

"Dammit!" Liz cursed, diving for the shake machines. She nearly tripped over the broken table, but managed to avoid it at the last second. She looked around for ingredients with which to make a mango shake – she was fairly certain there wasn't anything laying around the Steak N' Shake kitchen that could suffice. "Uhh…" she started.

"Here," said the man, and suddenly there were mangos aplenty at hand.

"Gee, thanks," she muttered.

"Mind the pits," said the man.

"Oh, great," Liz grumbled, and grabbed a knife. She sliced the mangos as quickly as possible. Outside the kitchen, she could still hear tigers growling, attacking one another. Liz fervently hoped no patrons had been left behind. She threw the mangos into the blender and tossed in some ice cream, and blended on the highest setting. When it had reached a decent consistency, she threw it into a milkshake cup.

"Don't forget whipped cream," advised the man. "And a cherry."

"Yeah, yeah." Liz threw some whipped cream and a cherry on top, and slammed on a lid. The chocolate shake was easier; she'd made them a hundred times before. Finished now, she charged to the to-go window and placed the milkshakes next to the frog legs. "Ok, your order's done," she said. "You can come around to the window now. And, you know, change the tigers back into tables." A milkshake cup hopped by her. "And stop these things from hopping," she added, glaring at the cup. It hopped away quickly.

"When we have our food," said the man.

She heard the car roar to life, and then watched in mixed awe and horror as the most ridiculous limousine she had ever seen came twisting around the corner. It was, in fact, actually twisting; defying all possible laws of physics, it bent as it went around the corner to accommodate for its huge size.

"Um," said Liz. "Wow.

The window of the chauffeur's door rolled down. A robot stared her in the face. "Please give me the food," it said in its horrible monotone.

"Yeah, yeah." Liz handed it to him. "Can we go back to a normal restaurant now?"

"I do not know," said the robot. "I am only the driver. You will have to ask them."

The box and shakes disappeared from the robot's hand. It turned away and pulled up, the car flying forward so rapidly that the dragon pattern along its side blurred. Then it stopped just as abruptly, shrieking as it came to a halt. A window rolled down in the back, and two familiar faces stared back at Liz.

Liz gaped at them, awed. "Uh… uh…" she said.

"Thank you for your cooperation, girl," said Jafar, grinning at her.

"Yes," said Maleficent. "Such good service here. We may just come back."

Liz recovered herself. "Dear God, please don't!" she begged.

Jafar and Maleficent turned and smirked at each other. "Good night, Liz," Jafar said, and the car zoomed off.

When Liz turned around, the tigers had turned back into tables. Many of them were covered in horrible claw marks or were broken into bits; all lay haphazardly around the store. Plates and glasses lay in bits everywhere. Employees remained cowered underneath the counter, quivering in terror.

"Dear God," said Liz again. "What the hell was that?"

*

"Hmm." Jafar tasted the frog legs and frowned. "These aren't prepared properly. Here." He pointed his cobra staff at them, and they transformed, covered in seasonings and a rich sauce.

Maleficent reached out and took a bite. "Mm, fabulous," she said. "We'll have to have these again."

Jafar smiled. "On the next date, perhaps I'll take you to a restaurant that specializes in them."

Maleficent nibbled quietly at a frog leg. The next date. They'd agreed to it without even saying a word about it, really, without even intending to. She wasn't certain how she felt about that. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone on a second date with anyone. In most of her first dates, she usually had killed the man – or at least maimed him – before they'd even reached the restaurant or film. Yet she actually felt eager to go on this second date. She hadn't enjoyed herself so much since…

Well, since she'd had Prince Phillip chained up in her basement. Now _that_ had been a good night.

"I'd like that," Maleficent said to Jafar. "It sounds… wicked."

They ate quietly. By the time they had finished, the limo had stopped in front of Maleficent's castle. Her idiot minions gawped at it, scratching their heads and making threatening moves towards it with their pikes.

"Idiots," Maleficent grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "You'll have to forgive them," she said to Jafar. "They're not particularly bright."

"Minions never can be, really," Jafar said sympathetically. "If they were too bright, they'd try and overthrow you."

"I know," Maleficent said. "But sometimes I wish I had someone more intelligent to help me with my schemes."

"So do I," said Jafar.

They looked at each other. Maleficent turned several shades of green darker than normal – a blush. She tried to brush it off. "I had a delightfully nasty time tonight," she said.

"As did I," Jafar said. He reached out and took her hand. She stared at it, surprised. He was certainly bold. She thought she had probably ought to zap him for that, but having her hand held felt… marvelous. "Can I see you again?" Jafar asked.

"Yes," Maleficent said, before she was even aware the word was escaping. "Of course."

"Tuesday?" Jafar said. "They're holding a masquerade ball at Cinderella's palace. I'd planned to crash the party."

Maleficent grinned wickedly. "I'd love to," she said. "What time shall I expect you?"

"Six o'clock," Jafar said eagerly. "And costumes are a must."

"Oh, I imagine I can whip something up," Maleficent said.

They sat awkwardly for a few moments, staring at their interlocked hands. "Well, I'd best go fry the minions," Maleficent said. "You know how they are. They'll probably pop the tires or something equally idiotic if I let them be any longer."

"Yes," Jafar said. He sounded disappointed. "Of course. Wouldn't want them to hurt the paint job, or anything of that nature."

"Certainly not," Maleficent said. "You worked so hard on it."

They sat there another few minutes. Jafar coughed awkwardly. Maleficent chewed her lip. Somehow the evening didn't feel complete yet. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it was something more than this. She began to feel irritated. She should just get out of the car and walk away. It wasn't as though they were talking about anything interesting. If he had something to say, why didn't he –

Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Maleficent froze for a few moments, pressed back against the door. Her minions outside were squawking at the car, and she thought maybe the robot was yelling at them, but she didn't particularly care. A few seconds later she closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss.

Jafar pulled back and cast her a nervous glance. "Um," he said. "Good night?"

She stared at him. Then she grinned, a brilliant, sinful grin. "You're very bold," she said.

He smiled uncertainly. "Yes, well," he said. "You don't survive long in this business without some daring."

She leaned forward. "I like daring," she said, and kissed him again.

The car rocked. Her minions were jabbing at it with their pikes. She broke away from Jafar, groaning. "Tuesday," she said.

"Yes," said Jafar. He was smiling almost drunkenly at her, obviously very pleased with himself.

She swung open the door and threw fire at her minions, who all ran screaming back into the gate. She got out, rolling her eyes. She paused, turned, and leaned back into the door. "This is still a trial run, you know," she warned. "Don't let your ego inflate too much."

He grinned impishly at her. "But Maleficent," he said, "I'm a villain. My ego is by definition too large for my own good."

She bit back a laugh. "Yes, well, don't let it get any larger because of this," she said. "I can still maim you." She waved her staff threateningly at him.

She was a little chagrined to see that he didn't look particularly threatened. "I'll watch my back," he said. "Good night, Maleficent."

"Good night," she sniffed, and slammed the car door closed. "Villains," she grumbled as the car sped off. "Too conceited for their own good."

*


	8. Chapter 8: Not So Happily Ever After

**A/N: Final chapter, with a bit of a twist. AU for Princess and the Frog; doesn't spoil anything from the film, but the characters are here.**

CHAPTER 8

Not-So-Happily Ever After

What it all boiled down to, essentially, was this:

Two villains had gone gallivanting around town unhindered.

Charming and Charming had sent out some of their best agents, experts in their field, with a prince-in-training on hand.

The heroes, though brave, hadn't stopped the villains. Disney had lost a very important business – the Vanishing Isle hotel and restaurant – and a giant sea turtle had, unfortunately, been a casualty.

The villains had still not been captured.

The villains had then proceeded to wreak havoc on a normal human store.

And the heroes, meanwhile, had had to be rescued by _fairies._

It was, to put it in modern lingo, an epic fail. Worse than an epic fail: a failtacular.

To say that Mickey Mouse was displeased would have been an understatement.

"So here's what I hear you saying to me," squeaked Mickey. The high pitch of his voice did not make his tone less ominous. "You failed, simply put."

"Epically," put in Abelard.

"Be quiet!" Mickey snapped. "You're no Disney prince yet!"

Abelard hung his head, abashed.

Mickey turned to the cringing Princes Philip and Aladdin. "So this is what I get from you despite all your years of expertise?" His voice hit an octave that only Pluto would have heard. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I expect more of you. _Everyone_ expects more of you. We can't go around having villains winning their battles – not once, not twice, not _ever_. Then they know that we can be defeated, and so do those who look to us to protect them from evil."

Philip and Aladdin shuffled their feet, small children getting a telling off by a furious parent. "Sorry, sir," Philip murmured.

"Sorry," Aladdin added.

"Sorry," Abelard said.

"As you should be," Mickey sniffed. "Here I thought this would be an excellent training mission for young Abelard here. You two, I thought, you're the best of the best. You know how to stop Maleficent. You know how to stop Jafar. But you've proven me wrong. I hope you're proud."

Aladdin and Philip shook their heads, staring miserably at the floor.

"I am _very_ disappointed," Mickey added, glaring at them. "Now we're going to have to try something truly daring to figure out what they're up to."

Aladdin and Philip looked up hopefully. "We'll do whatever we can to repair the damage, sir," Aladdin said.

"Yes," Philip agreed at once. "We have plenty of resources at our disposal – maybe if we get Genie and bring along the fairies – "

Mickey held up a hand. "No, they'll be expecting that," he said. "They know all our princes, and all their sidekicks. We have to throw something completely new at them."

Philip and Aladdin exchanged a glance. Abelard just looked confused. "What's that, sir?" he inquired politely.

Mickey smiled and reached towards the arm of his chair. He pressed a button, and a large red phone popped up. He lifted the receiver and dialed a number. "Hello, Naveen? Yes, Mickey here. I need you and Tiana to help me with a little problem…"

*

Somewhere in New Orleans, Dr. Facilier was watching.

"Hmm," he murmured, tapping his fingers on his table. Tarot cards twisted and changed nimbly in his fingers, displaying scenes, people, desires. They flashed by him in quick succession – a restaurant, two frogs in crowns, a dragon and a cobra, the Underworld, a fiery-headed god, a mermaid.

He glanced at his shadow. His shadow looked back and shrugged elaborately.

"We could make this work," said Facilier. "We could find other friends to help us, other ways to get at Naveen and his lovely froggy bride…"

The shadow grinned. Facilier grinned back.

"Time to work a little magic," he said, and flipped a card.

*

In the Underworld, Jafar and Hades were sitting in Hades' throne room sipping martinis.

"So that's it?" Hades asked. "You went to some mortal restaurant, took her home, and said 'Good night'?"

"Yes." Jafar looked dubiously at the martini Hades had placed in front of him, complete with worm. "What's in that?"

"Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that," Hades said, waving a hand. "Look, you can't seriously convince me that you went home with the Mistress of All Evil and didn't _do_ anything."

"Well, we didn't." Jafar glared at his cobra staff, nostrils flaring a little.

"Not by your choice, I take it?" Hades waggled his eyebrows.

Jafar sighed. "It was a first date," he said reluctantly. "Even the Mistress of All Evil has _some_ standards."

"Psssh, standards, schmandards." Hades slurped up the worm from his martini. "Seriously, you should try that," he suggested, pointing to Jafar's drink. "It's delicious."

"I was under the impression that eating food from the underworld gave my soul to you," Jafar said.

"Eventually it's gonna belong to me anyway," Hades muttered. "Ok, so nothing happened. Fine. I believe you. She's a scary lady. But please, tell me you got a second date. You must have, because you're still alive. C'mon, second date? Huh?"

Jafar swirled his martini without taking a sip, eyebrows arched. "Perhaps."

"Oh, come on," Hades said. "You know I'm going to find out eventually anyway. I mean, I have the freaking Fates on my side, ok?"

Jafar allowed himself a grin. "Next Tuesday, six o'clock sharp," he said. "We're crashing Cinderella's masquerade ball. That should please Charming."

"Damn," Hades said, shaking his head. "I'm impressed. I'm really, genuinely impressed. I mean, hasn't this chick killed every single man she's gone on a date with for the past four hundred years or something?"

"Rumor has it." Jafar tried not to sound smug. He failed.

Hades whistled. "Damn." They sat in silence for a few seconds, pondering the dark stone of Hades' skull-palace. "You know, I can never find a date," Hades said spontaneously. "No goddess wants to go with me, not even my own wife."

Jafar choked on his own breath. "You're married?"

"Yeah," Hades grumbled. "Persephone. She's Demeter's kid. Demeter gets all pissy when Persephone's with me and makes the weather go psycho. You may have – oh, never mind. You live in a desert. I forgot. Weather is pretty much hot and dry."

"It can get very cold at night, actually," Jafar said. "And rainy season is never pleasant."

"Cry me a river," Hades said.

"You already have one by the name of Styx, I believe."

"Har, har." Hades pulled a cigar out of thin air and began to smoke it. "You know, _I_ went on a date with Maleficent a coupla months ago," he said, casually.

Jafar arched his eyebrows. Inwardly he was snarling, but he did his best not to show it. The only outward indication of his rage was a quick flare of his nostrils. "Mmm," he said. "A few months ago. Must not have gone well."

"Actually," said Hades, "It went magnificently. I just, you know, got a little busy, had some stuff to take care of, dead souls to corral, a hero's life to muck up, you know. God stuff. We gods have very important business to take care of, see, unlike you mortals, who just run around thinking you have important things to do. Then you die and realize it was all for nothing, but by then it's too late, and you're stuck with me."

Jafar glared coolly across the table at Hades. "So what you're saying, essentially," he began, "Is that you didn't call her back."

"Well, yeah, I mean I was _planning _to, but." He shrugged elaborately. "But. Anyway, my point being, I _probably,_ most definitely, would have gotten a second date, had I asked a couple of months ago. And, you know, before you did all this schmoozing and waltzing and Vanishing Isle business I was actually planning to ask her out again."

Jafar laughed quietly, a disdainful laugh. "You thought to ask a woman out again after you hadn't called her for months?" he said. "She'd blast you to bits."

"Not a problem, I'll just repair myself and come right back," Hades said. "She blasted me anyway when I was trying to ask her out, and I came back from that. 'Cause of the god thing, you know. I can do that."

Jafar waved a hand dismissively. "She's already agreed to a second date with me," he said. "I doubt she'd be interested in spending an evening with someone who couldn't even be bothered to call her until he saw his opportunity vanishing in smoke."

Hades was starting to turn an unpleasant orange color. "Yeah, well, _friendly_ competitive remark here, Jafar," he said, "But I'm a god, ok? I rule. I mean, I rule like whoa. I can do probably a million more amazing things than you can, ok? Because I can do anything. So I think, even if she is a teensy bit mad at me for not calling, that she will still be more impressed with me than you."

"Is that so?" Jafar was openly seething now, eyes narrowed, face reddening. "Then you'd best call her and find out if she'd be open to seeing you again."

"I will," Hades said.

"Right now," Jafar said.

"I'm going to," Hades snapped. "Just watch me, ok? I got this." He conjured a thin circle of smoke midair; at its center, Maleficent's lovely green face appeared. For a moment she looked ecstatic; then she frowned, eyes narrowing. "Hades," she said. "What do you want?"

"Hey, Maleficent, babe, how you doin'?" Hades said, leaning forward and smirking broadly at her. "Evil planning goin' well and all that?"

She raised a brow in noble derision. "Perfectly, as usual," she said. "And how have your past few months been?"

"Just peachy," Hades said. "Full of evil scheming, oppressing the dead, smiting mortals – you know, the usual."

"How pleasant." Maleficent lifted a hand and studied her nails intently. "Is there something you required?"

"Well, no, just thought I'd check in, see how you were… see if you were busy Tuesday night…" He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Long time, no see, yeah?"

Jafar studied Maleficent's expression carefully. She glared at Hades, eyes narrowed into slits so thin he could barely see her pupils. Her arms were crossed over her chest; behind her, her minions squealed and dove for cover.

"I'm busy," she said. Her voice could have frosted the sun.

"Oh." Hades ran a hand through his hair. "Wednesday?"

"Still busy."

"Thursday?"

"Continuation of busy."

"Friday?"

Maleficent sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Hades, let us say, for the purpose of this conversation, that I am eternally busy, and leave it at that."

Hades' hair flared orange. "Ok, wait a sec," he said. "Let's stop and think about this here. I'm a god."

Maleficent seemed unimpressed. "And?"

"_And_," Hades said, "I'm powerful. Like, really powerful. And I control dead people. I have fire for hair. I mean, you like fire, right? Fiery dispositions?"

"I also like a man who calls me after our first date," Maleficent said, "And doesn't wait until seven months afterwards, when he learns that another man has taken me out, to try again."

"Wha – oh, come on," Hades snapped. "I didn't know about that date!"

Maleficent rolled her eyes.

"No, seriously," Hades said, "This has nothing to do with that."

Maleficent rolled her eyes again, leaned out through the cloud of the smoke, peered around it, and waved at Jafar. "Hello, Jafar," she purred.

He grinned and waved back. "Good morning, Maleficent."

She slipped back into her proper side of the cloud of smoke. "You were saying?"

"Ok, fine," Hades grumbled. "Maybe it had something to do with your date. But, look, do you really want to go out with this schlupp? I mean, look at him." He turned the cloud to face Jafar. "He's got that ridiculous hat. And he could poke your eye out with those shoulder pads. And weren't shoulder pads so the 80s, anyway? I mean, he's not even from the 80s!"

Jafar glared at Hades, but Maleficent seemed undeterred. "While I'm flattered that you apparently think so much of me," she said, "I'd kindly ask you to leave Jafar alone. I find him perfectly handsome and charming and wicked, impressive in his demeanor, and someone who will _actually commit._"

"Commit?" Hades looked a little horrified, but he recovered at once. "Sweetheart, I am all about commitment," he said. "Seriously, I can commit to – lots of things. And commit lots of crimes. Commitment everywhere. You have no idea."

Maleficent sighed. "This is really very pathetic, you know," she said. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not interested. Good day."

"But – !"

Her face disappeared, and the cloud popped, dissolving in little fragments midair. Hades stared at the space it had momentarily occupied, shocked.

"Well, well, well," Jafar said smugly. "Not at your usual lady-killer standards today, are you?"

Hades turned and glared at him, slowly turning from orange to red. "It's just because you're here," he said. "If you hadn't been here, she would have been all over me. One day, Jafar, she's going to walk away from you and come to me, because, hey, I'm a god. You know, I could even pull her soul out of the river of death when she dies."

"Assuming she dies anytime in the near future," Jafar said. "She has lived an abnormally long time."

"Yeah, well, everybody except gods dies eventually, so." He shrugged. "Sorry, but eventually you all lose. Except me."

Jafar settled back in his chair. "There's an easy way to settle this, of course."

Hades raised his eyebrows. "Is there?"

"Oh yes," said Jafar. "We are surrounded by magic, powers beyond mere mortals' wildest dreams. We, sir, can look into the future."

Hades stroked his chin thoughtfully. "This is true," he conceded.

"So why don't I cast a spell that will show us – "

Hades held up his hands. "Oh, no," he said. "No way. I'm letting you cast a spell that could lie. We use the Fates."

Jafar snorted. "The Fates," he repeated, "Who are, of course, naturally on your side?"

"The Fates don't lie," Hades said. "Ever."

"Forgive me if I don't trust your word," Jafar said. "But thus far you've proven to be a remarkably undependable friend – nothing personal, I understand, it's just in our nature – but nonetheless, I have no interest in being cheated of my proper fortune."

"Ok, fine, I respect that," Hades said resignedly. "So now what? We can't use your magic, and I can't summon the Fates, so we're kind of screwed here, aren't we?"

"There must be some other way," Jafar said, frowning. "We can't be the only ones looking into the future."

"Future?" said a disembodied voice. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. I am the _master_ of the future. I can see it all – and I can change it 'round some, too."

Both Hades and Jafar looked around. "Whoa, disembodied voice," Hades said. "Not cool. You do _not _break into my underground lair without my – is that a weird shadow?"

The shadow gestured, grinning widely. "Come," said the voice again. "Step into Dr. Facilier's parlor, gents, and have your fortunes told."

Hades and Jafar exchanged a glance. "Facilier?" Hades whispered.

Jafar shrugged. "Never heard of him," he said.

"Should we trust him?" Hades said.

"I highly doubt it," Jafar hissed, "Given that he appears to be a shadow on your wall."

"Oh, c'mon, boys, there's no need to be shy," said the voice. "Two fine gentlemen such as yourself – one the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and one a god – don't have nothin' to fear from the lowly likes of ol' Dr. Facilier."

They exchanged another glance. "He has a point," Hades said.

"I suppose he does," Jafar agreed, but he looked dubious.

They looked at the shadow. They looked at each other. Hades shrugged. Jafar shrugged.

"Oh, what the heck," Hades said. "Why not? Let's go, humor this guy. We can always smite him if he pulls something, right?"

Jafar nodded, a little reluctantly – but it was too late for protests. The shadow grinned, leaped out from the wall, and snatched them both. With two nearly identical howls they were gone, leaving the throne room empty and their futures most uncertain, indeed.

END


End file.
